


This is No Mere Ranger

by kayeherl



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aragorn/Legolas - Freeform, Friendship/Love, Legolas/Aragon, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Memories, Post Hobbit, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Slash, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeherl/pseuds/kayeherl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Aragorn and Legolas met when Aragorn lived with Elrond before he knew who he was? What if they had a passionate affair that would still haunt them if they were to meet again, sixty seven years later? What would happen? This is just a plot bunny I got. Aragorn/Legolas pairing. Slash, do not read if you hate. Rated Teens and up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I also have on FanFiction.net. Please comment and review, I really appreciate knowing if I can fix anything, because I'm probably trainwrecking all of Middle Earth. Yes, Legolas has black hair in this story, like it was implied in the book.

Aragorn, son of Arathon arrived to Rivendell to stay for more than a fortnight sixty-six years and two months after he had left it behind. He had been only just a man at that point in time, angry and disheartened. The memories of this place nearly threatened to overwhelm him as he rode though Imaldris. He had come when Elrond had asked, towing along the four hobbits that he had saved from the Nazgul. For even though Elrond had lied to him and deceived him, he was still the only father that Aragorn had ever known.  
The hobbit, Frodo, tugged on his sleeve. “Is that him?” he asked in a stage whisper, jerking his chin ahead of the company of hobbits and the man. Aragorn had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t even seen Elrond. He watched them approach with no emotion on his face. Being the Lord of Imaldris, he had long since learned to keep his face a mask despite the emotions that roiled underneath his mask.  
Aragorn nodded. “The Lord of Rivendell, Elrond,” he murmured, just loud enough for Frodo to hear. Frodo nodded and glanced over at his travelling companion and former gardener, Sam. Sam was looking at the elves with some apprehension, but Aragorn seemed as if he was completely at ease, so he tried to not panic too much. As they came within speaking distance of the elves, Aragorn paused, looking unsure for the first time since he had come to save the hobbits.  
“Come, Ranger. Gi nathum hi,” Elrond said, extending a slender hand. He walked to meet Aragorn, who had held a hand out to the hobbits to stay them from following him. His boots crunched on the fine-ground rock beneath his feet. He focused on that sound, trying not to feel anything. This place held too much emotion for him to take in at once.  
He forced a smile as he took Lord Elrond’s hand and bent to brush his lips over the cool dry skin. “It has been long since I have set foot in this house,” he said as way of greeting.  
Elrond tilted his head back in acknowledgement. “So it has. Too long, some might say.”  
Now a real smile tilted Aragorn’s lips upward in wry amusement. “But not you, for you are immortal, my Lord.”  
“True that is,” Elrond said. “How do you fair? Are you well?”  
Aragorn nodded and stepped back. “I have been well. And you?”  
Elrond let out a long breath. “It is the same as it always is, Estel.” Aragorn stiffened at the name. It was his name before he knew his true heritage, but whether Elrond employed it intentionally or not, Aragorn did not know. “Time passes so quickly here, yet so slowly that every moment seems to stretch into an eternity. Be glad that you are not immortal, Aragorn. It is a blessing and a curse at the same time.”  
Aragorn inclined his head, and then turned to the side and motioned the hobbits forward. “I have brought the ring bearer and his friends,” he said instead of answering Elrond’s statement. “Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck.”  
“Good, good,” Elrond said. “We will show you to your rooms so that you can refresh yourselves after your journey here. We will all meet later, after you have been seen to.”  
“Thank you, my Lord,” Aragorn said, bowing his head in gratitude.  
Elrond nodded and motioned some elves who were standing by the entrance to the fortress forward. “Please show them to their rooms.”  
“Wait,” Aragorn said, putting a hand on Elrond’s arm. “How fares Arwen?” the elf was faced partially away from Aragorn as he asked this, but he could still see the tightening of the elf’s jaw as he heard Aragorn utter his daughter’s name.  
“She fares as well as can be expected,” Elrond said coolly, and then pushed Aragorn’s hand off of his shoulder and moved to walk away. He didn’t look back, and Aragorn felt something lodge in his throat. He shouldn’t have asked after Arwen. After she had given him the Evenstar only months ago, Elrond and Aragorn had not been on good terms.  
“Strider?” Aragorn looked down in surprise at the hobbit who was watching him. Frodo’s eyes were careful and observant. He was a smart hobbit.  
“Did I miss what you just spoke of?” Aragorn asked. The hobbits looked among themselves for several moments before anyone answered.  
“The elves are ready to take us to our rooms,” Sam said after a moment. He motioned up the steps, to where the two elves stood with their eyes on their feet. As the first looked up, Aragorn felt his breath hitch. His hair… no, it wasn’t him. He wouldn’t be here. He was an elf of Mirkwood, thus he would not be in Rivendell without a good cause. And he certainly wouldn’t be showing people to their rooms. He was a prince, after all. The man caught Aragorn’s eyes and gave a smile that held no warmth, and Aragorn was able to breathe again, because his eyes were green, not those unearthly eyes that flickered between grey and blue depending on his mood. Aragorn nodded a greeting and promptly began moving up the steps to cover his stumble.  
The elves were like ghosts as they moved down the halls of Aragorn’s childhood home, making no noise and moving almost too gracefully for it to be natural. All of the elves carried this unearthly grace, which had always made Aragorn stand out. He had been so clumsy when compared to the elves. No matter how hard he tried, he could never move like them. Rhaich knows, he’d tried. Over and over, he had tried to walk like them, to run and to fight like the elves. But his human body was not as lithe or as flexible as the elves. Certainly, he was much more flexible than a normal human, but he did not even begin to compare to the elves.  
“You look familiar to these halls.” To Aragorn’s surprise, Pippin spoke up. Aragorn realized that he had been smiling in spite of himself, while he remembered.  
“Aye. I lived here for eighteen years. My father was slain and Lord Elrond took me in as his own.”  
The male elf who Aragorn had mistaken for Legolas turned suddenly. “Estel?” he asked in surprise. Aragorn blinked.  
“Ma istanyel?” he asked, slipping into Elvish in surprise.  
“No,” the man said. “I have never personally met you; I was away for the eighteen years you were here in Rivendell, but I heard about you.”  
Aragorn frowned slightly and didn’t answer the elf for several moments. Why would he have heard of him? He had been there for such a short time to the elves; only eighteen years. That was a blink of an eye in the mind of an elf. He was the only human to have stayed in Rivendell for a very, very long time, but that should have made no difference. “I see,” he said eventually. “What is your name?”  
“That is not important,” the elf said. “Here is your room.” He bowed quickly and then turned on his heel, throwing a quick farewell over his shoulder. “Mae govennan.” Well met. But I didn’t even meet him, Aragorn thought. He shook his head. He had more pressing matters than an elf who happened to remember him.  
His room was just as he remembered it. It was as if no one had touched any of his belongings since he left, sixty seven years ago. There was his bed where he had lain untroubled for years, without a care in the world. There was his chest in which he could still find Elvish clothes from his stay here. There was the window in which he had looked out of every morning as he woke up to see if the weather was good enough for hunting, and later, to wait for his seron.  
Aragorn found himself drawn to the large window. He sat down on his bed and looked out onto the forest and the river. The sight was peaceful and reminded him of times before he had seen the horrors of this world and experienced such exquisite pain.  
I have been away from here far too long, he couldn’t help thinking. Suddenly, his exhaustion caught up to him and he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Just for a moment. It was only moments before he was falling deep into a sleep that was filled with all of the memories he had been trying to repress.  
“Strider?” A muffled knock came at Aragorn’s door and he started suddenly out of sleep. He sat up straight and grasped the hilt of his sword, trying to fight past the cobwebs of his dreams. He was disoriented for a moment, wondering where he was and when he was, but after a few moments of flailing confusion, he remembered.  
“What is it?” he asked.  
“Lord Elrond has gathered everyone, and he is ready for us to go down.” It was Frodo.  
With a sigh, Aragorn pushed himself off of the wall and got to his feet. "I'll be there in a moment." There was a pause.  
"But you do not know where we will be meeting," the hobbit said. "Are you certain that you do not want us to wait for you with the escorts?"  
Aragorn smiled. Frodo was good at heart, he had to admit. He was sorry that this great evil had befallen him. "I have a good idea of where we will be gathering. You must remember that I have wandered these halls for eighteen years."  
"Of course," Frodo said. "We shall see you soon." He could hear the hobbit pad away on bare feet, soon followed by his three friends.  
Aragorn sighed and turned to the chest. It would do him good to change clothes, even though they were elven clothes. Tensions would be high; this would be the first time men, dwarves, elves and hobbits would be together in a long, long time. Aragorn was loathe to take his chain mail off, and settled for changing his breeches and sleeveless cloak after a few moments of hesitation. It wasn't that he didn't trust Elrond; it was that he had no clue who he would be meeting with.  
He laced the front of the elaborate elven black cloak up with quick movements and strapped on his sword and pulled his arm guards quickly back on. He hid a knife in his boot after a few moments of contemplation, deciding that it was better to be safe than dead, and then quickly made haste to Elrond's council room.  
The elves nodded to him as he passed, but he hardly gave them a glance. He was lost in memories of wandering these same halls countless times, such a long time ago. It seemed as if it was millennia ago, with all of the things that had happened in those sixty-seven years that he had been gone from here, but at the same time, it seemed as if he was yet again only just a man. He let the memories overwhelm him, now that he was alone. This distortion of time made him feel dizzy. He was lucky that he arrived at the open air circular area that Elrond held his council on, because he was not focused at all on getting to the dais.  
Elrond was waiting for Aragorn at the entrance to the council room. “Aragorn,” he said as a greeting. Aragorn nodded to him, and looked past him at the council room.  
“All of the races are here today,” he murmured. “Do you not think this a bad idea? Tensions between the elves and dwarves are always high.”  
“This matter is too important to leave any race out of, for it will affect all of us.”  
“Your wisdom is infallible as it always is, Ada.” The familiar name slipped out from Aragorn’s mouth through habit, though he did not try to take it back.  
“Ada,” Elrond mused. “Seven and sixty years it has been since you have called me that.”  
Aragorn was about to reply when the human representative, a tall man with blond hair moved slightly, and Aragorn caught sight of the Mirkwood Elves’ representative. His breath caught in his throat as he blinked several times to make sure that his eyes were not betraying him, as they tended to do when it came to Legolas. But he was still there after several blinks.  
As he stood, dumbstruck into silence, Legolas looked up and saw him. His eyes went wide, and they flicked to Elrond. He obviously did not know that Aragorn was going to be here. He stood quickly from his seat and began walking across the council room. Aragorn drank in the sight of him as he came closer, his clean clothes and long hair with the battle braids, the bow and quiver that was always strapped across his back.  
As he approached them, Aragorn could see that he was fighting a smile. “My Lord Elrond, you did not inform me of Aragorn’s presence,” he said, turning to Elrond.  
Elrond blinked a few times, looking surprised. “I had forgotten that you two shared such a close bond. Please pardon me.”  
“Of course,” Aragorn said at once. No one had known the true extent of their relationship, not even Elrond. They had not let anyone know of their true feelings for several reasons. Part of it had been by sheer fate, and part of it had been by their own doing.  
“We will begin in a few moments,” Elrond said, and nodded his farewells to Aragorn and Legolas. Legolas turned and watched him go for a heartbeat, and then turned back to Aragorn.  
“Estel,” he said in a soft voice that held so much emotion, so much more than the simple name. He gave a brilliant smile that made Aragorn’s heart catch in his throat. Ed’ i’ear ar’ elenea, he was beautiful enough to make a battle hardened warrior weep.  
“Greenleaf,” he replied, just as softly. He reached out hesitantly and placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder. The gesture was a simple one of friendship to the casual onlooker, but it held so much more than anyone else could see. “It has been long since I have had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon you, my friend.”  
Legolas smiled now and reached up to put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder as well. He squeezed it, as if he could reassure himself of Aragorn’s presence by feeling the solid flesh under his arm. After a moment, Legolas looked away from Aragorn’s eyes, to the necklace that hung around his neck. The Evenstar’s gift to him, her love. “Aye,” he said, trailing his hand down from Aragorn’s shoulder to the chain of the necklace. “Far too long.” Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but Legolas pulled away before he could say anything, and returned to his seat.  
Aragorn was still partially in shock as he walked into the ring of the different races. Gandalf nodded to him as he passed, and Aragorn managed a slight smile. He sank into his seat next to the blond haired man who had been blocking Legolas at first. The man looked over and gave a smile that held no warmth. “And who am I to be seated next to?”  
“Strider,” Aragorn said, the name falling off of his tongue out of habit. “A ranger. And who might you be?”  
“I am Boromir,” the man said. Aragorn nodded to him again in greeting.  
“Well met,” he said. As Elrond called everyone to order, and everyone fell silent, Aragorn found his eyes drawn to Legolas once more. What was the elf doing here? He would reawaken old desires that were better left deep inside of Aragorn. For the love he had for this elf was volatile and could shake his entire being.  
Aragorn felt something stirring within him, beneath the love and lust that came to mind when Legolas’s mere name was mentioned. He felt vulnerability. He hadn’t been vulnerable, not completely, for sixty-seven years.  
He would never admit it to anyone, but this vulnerability scared him. 

Okay, I know it’s a strange place to end, but if I don’t end it now it will become humongous-ly long. Like I said, not much A/L in this chapter, but there will be much more in the next few chapters. If there’s anything wrong, please let me know and I will fix it. Also, please review, your comments and suggestions are most welcome and appreciated. Below are some translations for things that are said in Sindarin. I will probably be using a lot of Elvish in this fanfic, so I’ll always have these down at the bottom. Please feel free to correct me if anything is wrong with my Sindarin, as well. I don’t know much of the Elvish language, and would love to learn proper grammar and phrasing, etc.  
Gi nathum hi—You are welcome here  
Raich—Curses  
Ma istanvel—Have we met?  
Seron—Love  
Ed’ I’ear ar’ elenea—by the sea and the stars  
(Please let me know if I’ve missed everything. I’ve gone over it twice scraping through it for Elvish phrases, but I may have missed something.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So begin the flashbacks... I am using the script from LotR directly, just to say that.

Aragorn was lost deeply in his subconscious, so it came as a complete shock to him as he heard Gandalf begin to chant in the Black Speech. He jolted out of his mind and came crashing back to the present none too gently. The light faded, and thunder rumbled in the distance as Gandalf’s voice twined with another, whispering poisoned words that slid into Aragorn’s mind like a snake. A chill went down his spine as he grasped the arms of his chair.   
A moment later, it was normal, and Boromir stumbled back to his seat, shocked. Elrond leapt to his feet, dark eyes blazing. “Never before has anyone uttered words of that tongue here in Imladris!”  
Gandalf lowered his staff and gave the Lord of Rivendell a steady look. “I do not ask your pardon Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west.” He turned and looked at each of the assembled men, dwarves, hobbits and elves. “The Ring is altogether evil.” Gandalf, having said his part, slowly went to sit back down beside the hobbits.   
Boromir, who had finally shaken off his initial shock to Gandalf’s display shook his head and stood up again. “Aye, it is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?” There was a gleam in his eye. A gleam of madness, Aragorn thought, if he knew not that Boromir was mentally stable. He knew how the ring affected people. He had been tempted by it, if only for mere seconds. Boromir began walking around the assembled people of Middle-earth. “Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are you lands kept safe.” He clenched his fist as he said blood. “Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy, let us use it against him.” He motioned to the ring.   
Aragorn slowly relaxed. This could be remedied. He leaned forward. “You cannot wield it. None of us can.” He paused as Boromir turned to face him, a smirk on his face. Aragorn plowed on. He had to get this out before all-out war broke out between the different races. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”  
Boromir tilted to his head to the side and gave him a grin that was cocky and scathing. “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” The gleam in his eye was a beckon to challenge him, the son of the steward of Gondor.   
Before Aragorn could even open his mouth to answer, Legolas jumped up, his features icy with anger. “This is no mere Ranger,” he spat at Boromir. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” His eyes met Aragorn’s, and in them, Aragorn could read the love that they had shared in a time when Aragorn was only Estel. “You owe him your allegiance,” he said softly.   
Boromir’s gaze turned to one of disbelief. “Aragorn! This…” he paused, narrowing his eyes slightly, “is Isildur’s heir and heir to the throne of Gondor.”  
But Aragorn barely heard him. His eyes were on Legolas’s, the color of a cloudy sky and just as violent as a thunderstorm. He could feel himself falling into the memories that he could hold back no longer. Finally, Aragorn let go and he found himself drifting back to a time of simplicity. 

 

Estel was seated in a tree, resting his head against the trunk. The day was cool and clear as a crystal stream, and the air smelled of the first flowers of Ethuil. The sky above was the exact shade of the flowers that Elrond had planted in front of the entrance to Imladris. He closed his eyes after a moment and let out a sigh. In a fortnight, he would turn twenty, and he had escaped to this tree to think about his options.   
Even as a young child, Estel had known that he wasn’t an elf. He had always admired them from afar, with their unnatural beauty and graceful mannerisms that he could not match. Elrond had gently told him that he was a child of man, that he was not his father. His father had died and Elrond had taken him in as his own. He also knew that there was something about him that his Ada had refused to tell him about himself. Even his name, Estel was not his own.   
When Estel came of age, he was not obliged to stay at Rivendell with Elrond. Elrond had given him full permission to leave the Elven fortress on the eve of the day he had arrived twenty years ago. It had troubled Estel, that Elrond was so willing to give him up, but he had thanked Elrond and taken his leave of his Ada’s study. Estel was torn between staying and leaving. It would have seemed like a straightforward choice just a few years ago. He would have gladly stayed with the elves in their lands of never-fading joy and mirth and wine. He would have danced among them on Midsummer’s Eve as the most beautiful elf woman sang a haunting melody.   
That was before the first humans had arrived in Rivendell five years ago. They had been two soldiers seeking refuge from Orcs in the forest. Estel had found them strange and coarse at first, with their deft and ungraceful movements and accents that were so different than the Elves’ and strange customs.   
But then, Estel had sat at a near table during the nightly meal. The stories that they had told had enthralled Estel to no end, and he had gone to Ada, asking about the race of men.   
For the first time in his life, Estel had been interested in his people. He had become voracious to learn of what lay beyond the fortress of Rivendell, an insatiable desire that had led him to begin searching the forests. He had sought to learn the sword and bow and any other weapon he could get his hands on. He had begun travelling to the very fringes of the Valley of Imladris to hunt Orcs and other obscure creatures in order to learn all that he could about the outer realms without travelling there himself.   
Perhaps that was why Elrond had given him up so easily. He knew the craving the man had for something beyond that which he could see in the Valley of Imladris.   
Estel sighed again. He desperately wanted to see the world that those soldiers had spoken of, the glory and the honor of battle, but he knew that he would miss moments like this. Moments where he could hear naught but the breeze in the trees and the babble of the stream and the nicker of horses—  
Wait, that wasn’t a natural noise of the forest. Estel’s eyes shot open and he looked down through the trees. There should not be horses passing through here; this road was seldom used. The elves rarely traveled along these forest paths, as they had been forgotten by most. But what else could be travelling these paths?   
The forest floor, some four fathoms below, was empty at the moment, and Estel took the chance to lower himself closer to it before the elves got within seeing distance. He focused his eyes on the path below and listened. A moment later, a growl sounded, and Estel reeled back. There weren’t wargs in Rivendell’s forests, not this close to the fortress and the river. And they did not sound like wargs one would find naturally in a forest, which could only mean one thing: Orcs. Estel shuddered internally. He had heard the men talk about the Orcs; they spoke of their ferocity and cannibalism.   
What were Orcs doing so close to Rivendell? Before Estel could dwell on that much longer, a shout echoed through the forest, not Orc. Someone was out there, probably riding the horses he had heard. Without another thought, Estel dropped to the forest floor below and ran towards the noise. It had been one of pain, and whoever it was probably needed help.   
As Estel got closer, he could hear the Orcs snarling orders in their vile language. He paused and observed the scene in horror: an elf stood alone at one edge of the clearing, picking off the Orcs with a bow and arrow. Two other elves lay dead beside him, spears lodged deeply into their chests. None of the elves were in battle armor, which made them easy targets. It had probably been the death of the two elves. The remaining man stood tall and proud, whipping arrows quickly out of his quiver and firing them with deadly accuracy. Every target he aimed for, he hit.   
However, the odds were not in his favor. It was still twenty against one, and Estel could tell that this elf was not at his full potential. He was covered in dirt, and the horses that lay dead at the edge of the clearing were lathered. Whoever this elf was, he had ridden far and hard.   
Estel drew the sword at his hip. He could not simply sit here and watch the last elf perish. The Orcs were milling around the clearing, looking for an opening in the elf’s guard. Without his bow, the elf would be defenseless and easy to kill. Estel shouted a hoarse cry to get the closest Orcs’ attention. They turned in confusion, and snapped at Estel as he came into the clearing.   
“More meat,” one growled and lunged. Estel parried his first swing and quickly dispatched the Orc with a neat stab to his stomach. The Orc squealed and fell with a thud to the ground. Estel didn’t spare the Orc a glance as he turned to him. Two more Orcs replaced the first, sneering at Estel with glee. Estel took a deep breath and launched himself into one of the many sword techniques Elrond had showed him. Slash, parry, stab. Block, kick, shove. He became one with his blade, never slowing until suddenly, there wasn’t another enemy that rushed him.  
He blinked and spun in a circle. Only the elf stood about half a furlong from Estel, bow leveled at his chest. Estel raised his hands. “Avo nago nin,” he called. “I mean you no harm.” The elf hesitated. Estel could see the blood dripping down his shoulder from where he stood; he would need medical attention.   
“Why should I trust you?” the elf asked. His accent was not of the Elves of Rivendell. Now that he wasn’t in the heat of battle with the elf looking at him, Estel could tell that this elf was the kind of beautiful that would be terrifying to some. He was lean and limberly built, much like other elves. Underneath days of grime and dirt, his skin was as pale as the lilies that grew next to the river, and he was dressed as a wood-elf, one from Mirkwood. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing with battle braids. A warrior of Mirkwood.   
Estel sheathed his sword. “Your heart is still beating because I had the good fortune of arriving when I did. I could have easily killed you if I had wanted to.” He touched his unstrung bow that was strapped to his back along with a full quiver of arrows.   
There was another moment of hesitation, and then the elf lowered his bow slowly, letting off the tension. He pulled the arrow away and set it back in his quiver in one graceful movement. “You are a human,” he said after a moment. “What are you doing in the Valley of Imladris, and how do you know our tongue?”  
Estel began walking towards the elf, stepping over the dead bodies of the Orcs carefully. “Inquire about my identity later; you are wounded and I have knowledge of healing.” The elf looked down at his shoulder, as if he had just realized that he was wounded.   
“I am an elf. I will heal.”  
“You are losing too much blood. If it was to heal by itself, the blood would have stopped flowing by now,” Estel said. He stopped three ells away and looked at the elf, searching for any signs that he would attack if he came closer. Up close, he was even more beautiful. His eyes were the color of a thunderstorm and his face was fine and dainty yet masculine enough for it to be a proud face. The elf regarded Estel with as much reservation as the man did him.   
Estel sighed inwardly. The elf looked as if he was ready to bolt if he moved too fast. “Would knowing my name ease your distrust?” he asked.   
The elf’s eyes flicked from his sword back up to his face. His eyes were unreadable. “Perhaps.”  
“Very well. I am Estel, son of Elrond.”  
“Estel,” the elf repeated, seemingly slightly dazed. “You have a name of our people, and you call the Lord of Imladris your sire, yet you are human. What kind of games do you play?”  
“I play no games.” Estel took a step forward and reached out and touched the wood-elf’s shoulder. “I speak the truth.” He flinched slightly, but made no move to get away. Estel took that as a good sign and closed the last few feet between them. The elf stiffened and his hand clenched around his bow, but he still made no move to attack or flee. Estel paused, giving him time to adjust to his presence, and then reached up again and brushed the elf’s hair over his shoulder to gain better sight to the wound. He couldn’t help but marvel at the silken feel his hair had.   
Focus, Estel. He rubbed his fingers to attempt to rid his fingers of the feeling of the elf’s hair. It did nothing to help him forget the feeling, however. “Gwestog, Estel?” the elf asked as Estel leaned closer to part the fabric of his shirt. Estel looked up in surprise. The elf looked down at him, ageless eyes waiting for an answer.   
“Gweston…” he replied, nodding. He left it open as an implied question for the elf’s name.   
“I am known as Legolas,” the elf replied after a moment of hesitation. No Rivendell elf, save Elrond and a few others knew what meaning his name had. Once Estel had no immediate reaction to the name, Legolas relaxed a bit. This human, despite being the adopted son of Elrond, was ignorant of his existence.  
“Well met, Legolas, though I wish it could have been in better circumstances. Were your men escorts?” Estel asked after he had peered at the wound as much as he could with the elf’s shirt on.   
“They were my friends,” Legolas said quietly. Estel looked away. There was true grief in this elf’s voice, and elves were masters of keeping their emotions hidden if they so wished.   
“Diheno nin,” he murmured.   
“There is no need for that,” Legolas said, making an elegant gesture of dismissal. “It was not your hand that caused their deaths. How fares my shoulder?”  
“I cannot tell the full extent of the wound,” Estel said, feeling his cheeks heat. He turned away so that the elf would not see his discomfort. “Without you removing your tunic.” He glanced back at the elf after a moment to see him looking at Estel quizzically.   
“Very well,” he said after a moment.   
“I will go fetch water to clean your wound,” Estel said, and began to walk away, but he stopped after a few steps. “Hand over your bow so that I know that you will not flee.” He turned to look at the elf, who was drawing his quiver over his shoulder. His face, in a grimace of pain, went still as he heard what Estel said. Legolas kept his eyes on Estel’s as he laid his quiver next to his bow with deliberate care. He stood back up just as slowly and carefully, and then raised an eyebrow, as if daring Estel to demand his weapons again.   
Estel opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, closed it and turned. “I will go fetch the water, now,” he said and promptly escorted his burning cheeks to the nearest stream. 

 

Legolas turned from the man as he left and surveyed the surrounding area. The Orcs and scouts lay dead at last. It had been five days that they had been trying to outride them through the Misty Mountains pass. They had been outnumbered, and even though Legolas had brought with him ten of his best swordsmen and bowmen, they had been tired after riding hard from Mirkwood, and fighting their way out of the fortress. Some had even contributed their strength for Thranduil’s fortress to keep the Orcs out.   
His father had sent Legolas to ask for help among the Imladris elves, while he held the fortress as long as he could. If Legolas returned with no armies or they came too late, the wood-elves would have to move north and relinquish the lands to the Orcs. They would then have to hope that the Orcs would be satisfied enough to leave them in peace until they could gather their armies and retaliate.   
And if the Rivendell elves responded and dispatched armies quickly enough, then perhaps Mirkwood was not lost after all.   
Legolas allowed his eyes to travel to the last two companions he had rode with. Of all of the swordsmen and bowmen Legolas had brought, these were the ones closest to him. One had been his teacher in the ways of the sword, and the other had taught him the ways of the forest when he had wanted to learn more. They made up in fatherly love all that Thranduil lacked. Legolas did not blame his father for his lack of attention or caring. After all, he was a king and only had so much time for every person. It did not help that Legolas was not as vicious or as willing to kill as his father. Legolas could often recall bowing before his father and hearing himself called weak and soft. He feared to give the lands of the Silvian elves to him, for he would not be able to make the decisions that needed to be made.   
Legolas heard the returning footsteps of the man and realized that he had been brooding for far too long. He quickly removed his tunic, grimacing as the laceration on his shoulder twanged with pain. The man had fought well and hard, Legolas had to admit. He would have smiled, if he was not standing between the bodies of two of his most trusted friends.   
Legolas let his shirt fall to the forest floor and went over to his swordsmaster. Around his waist was one of the great Elven swords that had always been spoken of in legends. When he had accompanied Thranduil to slay the fire beasts of the north, his swordsmaster had killed several dragons with this very blade. Made by the high elves, it was one of the finest swords of his people. He could not simply leave it here.   
Kneeling next to the corpse, Legolas gently turned the elf over so that he could unbuckle the sword. He heard Estel pause at the edge of the clearing, but did not turn to look at him. His swordsmaster’s eyes were open, and Legolas gently closed them and whispered, “Savo hidh nen gurth.” He bowed his head. “May you join your kin in the Halls of Mendos.” He gently slid the sword belt out from under the body and set the sword down next to his bow and quiver. He moved to the other elf and repeated his wording and closed the elf’s eyes.   
After bowing his head over the bodies for a few more heartbeats, Legolas looked to the edge of the clearing. “Make haste, human. I have little time for this. I should be on my way to Rivendell.”  
Estel, who had been watching the elf warily from the edge of the clearing, walked carefully over to him. A filled water skin as well as a sprig of some sort of herbs were clutched in the man’s hands. He set both down a few ells away from the elf and helped him up.  
“You may want to sit at the edge of the clearing,” Estel said after a few moments of surveying the wound. He couldn’t help but let his eyes travel down the elf’s torso, which was exquisitely shaped, a perfect balance of lean muscle and white skin. He had never seen an elf as beautiful as Legolas, Estel had to admit.   
Legolas nodded and made his way over to the nearest tree. He eased his tired, aching frame against the rough trunk and surveyed the human as he poured some water on his hands to clean them of Orc blood. For a human, Legolas supposed, this one was not bad looking. He did not have the coarse mannerisms, which helped immensely, but he was fair of face as well. His hair was dark in color, but not the inky black of Legolas’s hair, as well as a completely different texture. Legolas longed to reach out and feel this strange wavy hair, to see if it felt any different than his own. After a moment, Legolas mastered the urge and looked instead to his eyes which were a light, untroubled gray, much like his own.   
Legolas narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to determine the man’s age. It had been long since he had thought about the life span of a man; it was so different than the elves’ that he rarely took the time to bother thinking it out. Humans lived such short lives compared to elves; their lifespan was a mere blink of an eye to an elf. But Legolas was young for his kind, and perhaps he could relate to this young human, living in a world of ancient beings that hardly remembered their own beginnings, they were so old.   
As Estel looked up, Legolas turned his gaze away almost guiltily. Being caught staring was not something Legolas was used to. His emotions were running high from the last few days and the deaths of his people. He was not himself, and did not have the same control over himself that he usually did. He would have to be more careful than usual.   
Estel had felt the tingling on the back of his neck as the elf observed him, but hadn’t looked up until he absolutely needed to. After finding a suitable piece of fabric that was not stained with Orc blood and that was relatively clean, Estel tore it off from his tunic and wetted it with some of the water. The rest he would pour directly onto the wound, and maybe offer some to the elf to drink, for he looked as if he were about to pass out from exhaustion.   
“Do you come from Mirkwood?” Estel asked as he set the water skin down again and walked over to the elf, who had leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.   
At his question, Legolas opened his eyes and watched the man approach. Maybe he did know his name—  
Estel frowned as the elf didn’t answer and he seemed to become guarded again. Had he said something wrong? “I only ask because the only elves to use these paths are ones crossing the Misty Mountain pass from the Woodland Forest,” he said after a few moments. He now stood within touching distance of the elf, who was still observing him with slitted eyes. Legolas visibly relaxed and closed his eyes once more.   
“My sire is from Doriath, so I only lay claim to my Silvan blood through the years I have spent there,” he said, leaning his head back against the trunk. The man smelled of Orc blood and the tang of excitement.   
“Doriath?” Estel asked, though it was more of a rhetorical question than anything else. There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “I must clean around the wound so that I can see the full extent of the damage.”  
The elf nodded his consent, but didn’t open his eyes. A moment later, he felt cool water against his skin, a relief from the burning, hot agony he had been in the last few days. He hadn’t been cool since he had fought his way out of the fortress. He let out a deep breath, which caused Estel to pull away and see if he had hurt him. Legolas opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. Should it not be raining, to symbolize the sorrow that weighed his heart down? No, the sun was out and the sky was clear. A moment later, the cool rag touched his shoulder again, and slid just under the burning pain that was the wound. The soft brush of the man’s knuckles sent a shiver down Legolas’s spine, though he did not move. It is exhaustion, nothing more, he told himself.   
Estel tried to focus on the task at hand, not the fact that he was touching such perfection. The elf’s skin was as smooth as any other elf’s, but it had a supple quality to it that spoke of youth and a softness that was like silk against a plate of armor. Soft to the touch, but hard as steel underneath. After a few painstaking breaths in which he could hear his heart pick up tempo, the area around the wound was clear enough for Estel to clearly see it. He set the rag down and came back over to peer at the wound more closely.   
“It is shallow,” he said after a few moments. Legolas found that it was hard to concentrate on the man’s words, as his breath caressed his skin and that strange hair brushed his collarbone. “And no muscle was damaged. It is only a flesh wound, one that should heal fairly quickly with this.” He held up the herb, and Legolas finally brought himself to look down at the man. Immediately, he froze.  
Estel hadn’t realized that he had stepped so close when he was looking at the wound, and once the elf lowered his head, they were nearly nose to nose. He should step back, Estel thought, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. In Legolas’s eyes was such a deep, profound sorrow. He had seen much in this world, and Estel got the feeling that he would see much more in his time.   
Legolas’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, anchored to the man’s. He told himself to look away, to stop this before it started, whatever this happened to be, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from the man’s eyes, so like his own. By the sea and the stars, he was beautiful for a man. A rugged, earthy beauty that no elf could ever compare to. Legolas felt it calling to the wild part of him, the part that wanted to spend his life in the woods, hunting and exploring.  
They stayed like that for several moments, breath mixing, eyes on each other’s, both caught in the moment and the possibilities. But then Estel broke away, and took a few steps away from the elf. What was he doing? He quickly took the herb and crushed the leaves between his fingers.   
“Athelas,” Legolas said, catching his breath and his thoughts again, after a few heartbeats. He turned his face to the side to school his features into something that resembled normalcy.   
“You know your plants,” Estel observed, not daring to look up at the elf. He had never even considered a man this way before; could not imagine considering a man the way he was at this exact moment. Yet here he was, his face red and his blood pumping quickly through his veins.   
“I am an elf of the Woodland Forest,” Legolas said, somewhat stiffly. “It is only natural that I know my plants.”  
“Of course,” Estel murmured. The juices from the leaves now stained his fingers and the leaves were in as much of a poultice as they were going to get from just his hands. “With this as a poultice for your wounds, you should be as good as new by tomorrow. He came back to the elf again, but this time, he did not step as close. He kept himself at arm’s length as he hoisted the water skin between them. “This may cause a small amount of stinging,” he warned, and dumped the water onto Legolas’s wounds.   
Legolas clenched his jaw as he felt the cold water hit his wound. Rhaich, it hurt. He kept his face turned to the side in case his emotions betrayed him, and didn’t utter a sound. A moment later, the numbness of the water set in, and he relaxed his grip on the tree behind him. “How is it that you know of plants?” he asked after a moment. “I have met no man who had such knowledge.”  
Estel chuckled. “I am a man of the Imladris valley,” he mocked. “It is only natural that I know my own valley’s plants.” Legolas turned to look at him, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but when he saw the man smiling, all words fell apart and he was left speechless. He settled for a grimace and did not reply. Estel began spreading the poultice onto the wound, and Legolas was glad for the numbness and the pain, as they almost drowned out the touch of the man.   
“I do not have a proper bandage, so I will have to use part of my shirt,” Estel said as he continued rubbing the crushed herbs into Legolas’s shoulder. It was more to make conversation than anything; the silence between them now was more awkward than when Legolas had been pointing his bow at him. He had no idea what had just happened, but it had been something dangerous. When Legolas did not reply, Estel looked up at him, and was shocked to see that his eyes were fluttering closed.   
He only had time to brace himself before the elf passed out cold and landed heavily against him. Estel sighed. This day was far from over. 

 

Okay! I’m finally done! Again, please comment, I’d love to know about any dumb mistakes I’m making so that I can fix them. Much appreciated, thank you! And now for the Elvish!  
Ethuil—late spring  
Avo nago nin—do not kill me  
Gwestog—Do you promise?  
Gweston—I promise  
Diheno nin—Forgive me (in a way that puts the person asking for forgiveness metaphorically under the forgivee)  
Savo hidh nen gurth—may you find peace in death  
Rhaich—curses


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of our characters' romp through the forest. Fun times!

Legolas came to slowly. His head was pounding as if a dwarf was mining his brains straight out of his skull, and his shoulder burned as he moved it. He could hear the crackle of a fire and feel its warmth against his back. As he moved, he felt that he was naked from the waist up, save the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. So the human hadn’t replaced his shirt, but covered him with a cloak. His cloak. It smelled of the human, a musky smell that no elf had. Legolas kept his eyes closed and inhaled the man’s scent for a few moments before he turned over to look at Estel.  
The man was seated opposite him, across the fire. He looked down at his hands which were stretched over the fire. He seemed to be lost in thought, and did not notice Legolas was awake until he sat up. Estel looked over at him from under heavy-lidded eyes. “You have awoken, at last,” he said.  
“How long have I slept?” Legolas asked, pushing himself to his feet swiftly. Too swiftly, for his head swam. Perhaps he had lost more blood than he had thought initially.  
“The rest of the day. It is almost dawn.” Estel stood as well and steadied the elf with one hand to his uninjured shoulder. “It would do you well to sit back down. Your body is still healing.”  
“Where are my weapons? Legolas pushed the man’s hand off of his shoulder and felt around his waist for his knife belt, which wasn’t there. Estel went over to his things and pulled Legolas’s bow, quiver, sword and knife out from under his own weapons belt.  
“They are safe. I must insist that you sit down. You must eat something and drink some water to quicken your healing,” Estel said. He laid his hand on the elf’s shoulder again and pushed him down. Legolas let him, mostly because his head wouldn’t stop swimming.  
“Why did you not wake me before? I must make haste to Rivendell?”  
“We will leave at first light and arrive by midday without horses,” Estel said. “Worry not. You needed to rest.” He went over to the fire and brought the water skin over and handed it to Legolas. “How long had you gone without sleep?”  
Legolas wrapped his hands around the neck of the water skin and tilted it back. The water felt like a soothing salve on his parched throat, and he drank long and deep for several heartbeats before handing the water skin over to Estel, who had crouched beside him. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Five days,” he said. “Since the Orcs began trailing us.”  
“Why do you come to Rivendell?” Estel asked, setting the water skin down and shifting slightly closer so that he could inspect the bandage.  
Legolas held perfectly still so that he wouldn’t be tempted to move away. There was something about the man’s closeness that rubbed his fur the wrong way. It made him feel hot and bothered, and Legolas did not let anything make him feel hot and bothered. That this human could accomplish this without even trying annoyed him to no end. “That is the business of the lord of Imladris, not you,” he said coldly. Estel paused, his fingers a few inches from Legolas’s shoulder. He grimaced, set his jaw, and didn’t reply for several long moments.  
“I must see if your wound fares any better than it did earlier,” Estel finally said. Legolas nodded after a moment and moved to work at the tie of the crude bandage. His fingers, however, brushed against Estel’s instead of fabric. The man’s hands were rough from sword and bow, but they were strong and cool from the light air. Estel wrapped his fingers around the elf’s and gently pushed them away from the bandage. “Davo eithad anech,” he murmured. Legolas found that he could not draw breath, and his heart picked up tempo inside his ribcage. Normally, he would have ripped his fingers out of Estel’s and snapped a retort to get him to leave, but he could not seem to remember his wits at this moment. And so, Legolas, proud wood-elf who needed no help from anyone, simply nodded.  
Estel let go of his fingers, though he didn’t want to. The elf’s fingers had been so smooth, except for the few callouses that came from his bow, and as slender and graceful as a harpists’. He could not find words for several moments, and simply held his hand near the tie of the bandage. Estel took a deep breath and slid his fingers under the knot. It took his fingers several attempts to fumble the tie, and he cursed himself inwardly. Finally getting it, he began to unwind the makeshift bandage.  
Legolas watched the human with relief. His air had returned to him once the man had let go of his fingers, and he had taken in a deep breath and tried to calm his heart through pure will alone. Though the human’s closeness did not help. His hair was right there, and if Legolas wanted, he could reach out and touch it, to see if it truly felt different than his own or that of his kin and the eledh.  
And then, suddenly, his fingers were twined around the strands. He had not remembered lifting his hand, or uncurling it from a fist. It felt as soft as his own, and he did not let go.  
Estel froze as he felt the elf’s fingers slide into his hair, and a shiver went down his spine. By all of the stars that graced the sky, that felt good. But what on earth was the elf doing? He looked up, the bandage forgotten. Legolas looked as shocked as himself, but he did not pull away, did not make a move of any kind. He was waiting for Estel’s reaction.  
Estel was caught between the two choices that he had. He could pull away, and go to the stream naught but three fathoms away and regain his composure, or he could lean in and capture the elf’s lips with his own. His body urged him to do the latter, while his mind prodded him to the former decision. He was torn for several long heartbeats. His body and mind fought for control over Estel’s will in those moments, and then he pulled away, his mind a victor.  
He unwound the bandage as quickly as he could and carried it away to the stream. He felt hot all over. It was the best end to that situation, his mind whispered to him. If a simple touch can affect you so, what would a kiss have done? But he ached to go back, to sink down next to the elf and wrap him in his arms, to whisper the words of a lover into his delicately pointed ear, to trail his tongue over the point and to gently bite the lobe—  
No, he told himself firmly. I will not let him affect me this way. He dipped the bandage into the stream and then began scrubbing the blood away forcefully.  
Legolas watched the human, feeling something coil tight in his stomach. Dread or excitement, however he could not decipher. He had seen the desire in the man’s eyes, had seen the internal battle he had waged in the few seconds they had been in contact. Why had he allowed himself to be so weak, to reach out and touch him? A prince of Mirkwood could not love a mere human. His father would never stand for it. His father.  
Legolas sighed. Yes, he must remember his father’s quest for him above all else. The survival of his whole people rested on the balance of Legolas’s shoulders. Legolas felt the darkness settle back around his heart, the deaths of his kith and kin and the worries of his realm recapturing his attention once again. It had been a sweet few moments, to lose himself in the human’s alluring gaze, but he could not allow such weakness again—  
“Legolas,” Estel said, just loud enough for him to hear. Legolas snapped his head towards the man, who had not turned around. “Tolo. I must clean your wound.”  
Legolas turned away and took a deep breath before standing up. His head had stopped spinning since he had drank the water, and he found that he could walk again. He picked his way down the gentle slope to join Estel at the edge of the water. Estel did not look up at him for a long moment, and his hair was a curtain between them, making it impossible to see the emotions on his face.  
Estel pulled the dripping makeshift bandage from the water and wrung it out forcefully. He should have waited longer to call Legolas over, his heart was still beating quickly. He wrung the portion of his shirt out once more, if only to give him more time, and then looked up at Legolas. The elf’s face was wary and the sorrow that had haunted his eyes was once again present. He looked away from the elf’s face and down at his shoulder, though he wasn’t really seeing. Estel stared blankly at Legolas’s shoulder for a good long minute before he slowly blinked. All he could think about was the wood-elf’s finger twining through the locks of his hair.  
Maybe one kiss would get this strange, immediate attraction out of both of their systems. Perhaps… Estel set the rag down slowly and looked up at the elf, who was still looking at him warily, as if waiting for an attack. He reached out and grasped Legolas’s shoulder, the uninjured one. Legolas’s muscles twitched underneath Estel’s palm, but he made no move to retreat. “Man ci?” he asked. “How have you managed to lay such a spell upon me?”  
Legolas’s eyes widened, but he did not get the chance to answer. His lips crashed into Estel’s as the man yanked him forward, as if he could wait no longer. Legolas was frozen at first, his body utterly unmoving. The man did want him; it had not been a trick of the light. His body soon remembered itself and he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and brought him closer.  
Estel made a noise of approval against Legolas’s lips, and drew back, just long enough to make sure that the elf hadn’t torn his shoulder. He caught a glimpse Legolas’s surprised face before he leaned in again and captured the elf’s lips in a kiss of such passion that it surprised even the man. This time, Legolas began to come to life in Estel’s arms. He slid his hands up the man’s muscled stomach and cradled Estel’s face in his hands, his lips never leaving Estel’s.  
The man wrapped his own arms around Legolas and drew him closer, deepening the kiss. Legolas felt a shiver go down his spine as Estel ran his tongue across the elf’s lower lip, and then their tongues twined together.  
Estel felt as if he was on fire. Every brush of the elf’s body against his was an inferno of flame, and he was alight with it. As their tongues danced, Estel wondered if he would perish in this fire. It felt so good, too good. Physical sensations of this amount of pleasure should not exist. He feared that he could get drunk on it and never stop.  
Legolas pushed Estel to the forest floor after a few moments, running his hands down the man’s sides once again, finding the clasps of his shirt. Legolas needed to feel skin against his, Estel’s skin. The man broke away from the kiss and helped Legolas, who was being none-too-careful with Estel’s shirt, ripping it in places when it took too long for the clasps to come undone. His long black hair trailed down on either sides of his face, spilling onto Estel’s face and neck. It was cool, the only thing to be so, and the man gasped, raising his hands from his sides to draw the elf closer to him, to feel more of that blessed coolness against his burning body.  
Legolas paused, his shoulder twanging. He could not bend over Estel in this manner. He grimaced, and Estel’s eyes, clouded with passion, immediately cleared, though the desire did not leave them. “Baw,” he murmured, pushing the elf back. “Let me.”  
“Are you certain?” Legolas paused, resisting the man pushing him onto the ground.  
“Aye,” Estel whispered, pushing the elf down into the grass. The elf relinquished after a moment, and allowed Estel to start trailing a hand down Legolas’s chest, to his tight as a drum stomach. As Estel rolled over to replace Legolas’s place, he slid the shirt off of his torso, and the elf reached up to touch his stomach, sliding his fingers over the muscles with something akin to fascination. Estel’s breath hitched, and he leaned down and trailed kisses along the elf’s jaw line, down his neck.  
His skin was beautiful by the moonlight, as pale as the moon itself and smooth save the wound that marred his shoulder. Estel wanted to taste every inch of it, see if he could taste the moon. Legolas gripped Estel’s shoulders and let out a soft sound of pleasure as Estel’s teeth nipped at his collarbone. He attempted to tell Estel to stop, before he should lose himself completely in these feelings, but he could not get the words past his lips, and all that came was a noise that Legolas would have never made in his right mind.  
“Does your shoulder hurt?” Estel whispered, mistaking the elf’s wordless exclamation as one of pain. Legolas shook his head, and brought the man back up to his lips so that he could devour them. Now Estel made a noise, just as embarrassing as the elf’s, but he was so lost in the sensations that he hardly noticed.  
“My shoulder does not pain me,” Legolas said between kisses. He ran his hand down the man’s bare back, fingers trailing over his spine, feeling each knob. Estel shivered again. This was too much, the sensations that this elf could bring to his body with just a few strokes of his slender fingers should not be possible. He drew away, partially to catch his breath, and partially to catch his wits, for both had been lost since he had felt the elf’s fingers in his hair. He positioned himself so that he could lie next to the elf, and still bury his face in Legolas’s neck.  
They stayed like that for several moments, arms and legs tangled together in a haphazard manne, both breathing hard. As they finally caught their breaths, Estel extricated himself. “I do not want to tear your wound open,” he said as Legolas made a noise of discontent. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Legolas’s lips, light and airy, so chaste that it was hardly a kiss at all. Legolas could feel his shoulder now that he wasn’t paying attention to Estel, and he knew that he had perhaps taken a bit too far.  
“Very well,” Legolas said, though it was grudgingly stated. He sat up next to Estel and placed a hand on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, a hunting horn blared in the distance. Estel stiffened, and was on his feet in an instant, running for his sword. He turned and tossed Legolas’s bow to him as he saw that Legolas had followed him.  
“What is it?” Estel murmured, drawing his sword and holding it out in front of him. “It did not sound like the hunting horns of Imladris.”  
“I know that horn,” Legolas said, his blood running cold. “Estel, we must leave now. The Orcs have found their dead kin, and they will be on our trail soon. We must reach the protection of Imladris before they catch us, or we will be dead. They have the wargs and we have no steeds.”  
Estel nodded, handing the elf the rest of his weapons quickly. He went to the stream once again and pulled his shirt on, fastening it as well as he could in his haste. Legolas watched him, silently urging him to be swift. Estel tossed the elf his cloak, for his shirt was still back in the clearing. Using the remaining water to dampen the fire, Estel and Legolas took off at a run towards the main path that would lead them to Rivendell, and to safety if they could manage to get there fast enough. 

 

They ran through the forest with the speed of the wind itself for quite some time before they heard the wargs behind them. Estel glanced back. Six Orcs were tailing them, and gaining fast. Legolas looked back as well.  
“We will never outrun them,” he shouted to Estel. Estel looked around. It was true, they could not run faster than the wargs for long.  
“The trees,” he panted after a moment. “We can escape them in the trees.”  
“They will simply wait us out. We must make haste to Imladris,” Legolas replied, looking over at the man, who was trying to find another way.  
“We could make for the river,” Estel said.  
“Or we could stay and fight,” Legolas said, grasping his bow and slowing. Estel paused as well and drew his sword.  
“Are you certain your shoulder is well enough to aim properly?”  
“I will manage,” Legolas said, drawing an arrow. “Dago i goth!” he shouted, and loosed his first arrow. An Orc let out a squeal of pain and fell off of the warg. The next arrow hit his beats, which also went down. Estel grasped the hilt of his sword more tightly. The Orcs were gaining on them fast, and they would have to act quickly to avoid injury.  
The Orc in the front drew his blade and parried Legolas’s next shot. He was an ugly brute of about a fathom and a half of height and a club in one hand, a sword in the other. His warg looked as if it had survived many battles, with one eye clouded and a nasty scar down its muzzle. Legolas shot again, this time at the Orc directly next to the leader, who fell to the ground. The Orcs were almost upon them, and Estel raised his blade. He was directly in the path of the leader, and set his sights on where he could strike him.  
The Orc came level with them and swung his sword at Estel’s neck. Estel leaned back, feeling the blade disturb the air a few inches above his head. He spun to the side to avoid the club coming down on his when the sword missed, and swiped his sword out desperately at the beast as he passed beside Estel. His sword caught the warg’s leg and the beast snarled in pain and fell.  
The Orc clambered none too gracefully off of the beast and raced at Estel, loosing a war cry that sounded more like a roar. Estel staggered, trying to regain his balance before the Orc fell upon him, but he didn’t quite manage to align his body the right way, and the sting of metal in his leg caused him to cry out. He quickly recovered and slashed at the Orc, cutting through his guard easily and slicing into his chest. The Orc let out a roar and tried to swing at Estel again, but the man disarmed him with a quick movement and stabbed him quickly in the torso. The Orc let out a sound that was in no way human, and pulled Estel closer along the blade, pulling himself onto it. He was taunting him. Estel tried to get his sword out of the Orc’s stomach, but the creature resisted. He snarled in Estel’s face, and smiled, revealing sharp teeth.  
Suddenly, an arrow punched through his chest, and it was soon followed by another, and then the Orc fell, taking Estel down with him. Estel ripped his sword from the Orc’s body, causing one more inhuman sound before the creature lay still. Estel struggled to get out from under the body, grunting as he scraped the cut on his leg over a sharp branch. There were sure to be more Orcs, and he did not intend to die half trapped under an Orc’s body.  
His sword was just out of his grasp, and he reached for it as he saw the paws of a warg pad closer to him, languidly, as if the beast had all day. Estel gritted his teeth and stretched, but he couldn’t quite wrap his fingers around his sword handle. He cursed in the men’s tongue, something the men to visit Imladris had been very happy to teach him, and kicked at the Orc’s body with all of his might. It did not budge.  
Estel felt the shadow of death over him for the first time in his life. The warg’s hot breath stirred his hair, and he could hear the low growl in his ear. He looked around, as if he could find a solution to his mishap, but none came for several moments, and the warg’s breath continued to ruffle his hair. Suddenly, the answer came to him as the strap of his quiver dug into his chest. An arrow.  
He reached behind him and swiftly drew an arrow and stabbed into the warg’s paw with as much strength as he could muster. The warg howled in agony and struggled to move away, jaws snapping at Estel’s hand.  
There was a shout that was not that of Legolas, and Estel froze as the sound of hoof beats sounded, growing closer. Estel twisted around, and saw Legolas surrounded by the remaining three Orcs, keeping them at bay with his knife with as much skill as he had with the bow. He looked to be unwounded, save his shoulder, which had started bleeding again. But Estel’s attention was drawn beyond the elf, as white horse poured into the clearing. Arrows were swiftly loosed and the Orcs and wargs fell dead to the elves’ deadly accuracy.  
A horse galloped to a few ells from Estel’s still outstretched hand, and feet landed lightly next to his sword. “’Estel,” a familiar voice said urgently. “You must hurry. There are Orcs swarming through the valley. We must make haste to the fortress.” Estel craned his neck upwards even further so that he could see the elf.  
The weight of the Orc was lifted off of Estel’s legs, and he leapt up, grabbing his sword. The elf nodded his greeting, and Estel looked at him in shock. “Haldir, what brings you to Imladris?” he asked in shock. The Lothorien elf smiled at him grimly.  
“We ride to Imladris to discuss the oncoming threat. There is something that has covered all of the realms of Middle-earth in darkness, and we plan to discover what it is. The Lady Galadriel is already with Lord Elrond. They are awaiting our arrival.” He swiftly re-mounted his steed. “We must make haste. There are more Orcs on our trail, and they are not far behind.” He held out a hand and Estel took it, swinging up behind the elf.  
“Wait, what of the other elf, Legolas?” he asked. He looked around, but could not see Legolas on the ground anywhere.  
“The elf that was travelling with you?” Haldir asked, looking back at him. Estel nodded. Haldir shouted a few words in Sindrian and an elf answered, bringing his steed up. “How fares the Mirkwood elf?” Haldir asked. The man, who had blond hair like his captain looked back.  
“We pulled him up onto horseback, but he is not conscious. His shoulder is wounded,” the man said in Elvish. Estel immediately turned around even more, trying to see where Legolas was, but Haldir spurred his horse into action before Estel could get a good look and he had to turn around to avoid falling off.  
“Are you certain the elf’s name is Legolas?” Haldir asked as he leaned over his horse’s neck, urging him to go faster.  
“Aye, what of it?” Estel replied. Haldir did not reply to his question. Instead, he turned and looked back at the company of Lothorien elves.  
“We ride fast and hard to Imladris,” he shouted in Elvish. “Time is of the essence.” He lowered his voice again so that only Estel could hear. “Hold onto me, Estel and rest. Your legs are weary and I do not want you to fall.” Estel looked down at his leg. The blood soaked his pant leg, turning it a darker color than it had been before. As if the sight of the wound had made the pain come, Estel suddenly felt slightly faint. He did as he was asked and leaned his head against Haldir’s shoulder. The darkness that had been swimming at the edges of his vision for some time overwhelmed him in a rush, and he was lost to the conscious world. 

 

“Hir vuin, Echiou.” A voice cut through Legolas’s sluggish mind, a woman’s voice, gentle and calm. He was not asleep, was not unconscious, but he could not seem to move. His shoulder burned as if it were on fire, and he longed for water. He attempted to open his mouth, to beg whoever was shaking him to stop, to douse him in the river instead, but his lips hardly twitched.  
“What ails him?” this voice was familiar and Legolas tried to open his eyes. Estel. “That wound was only a shallow cut. Eldeh heal from these kinds of wounds quickly, do they not, Ada?”  
Ada? Legolas thought. He is on such familiar terms with Lord Elrond that he can call him Ada? Legolas had not believed Estel when he had said that he was son of Elrond. But here was the proof. Before he could dwell on that much longer, Elrond answered Estel.  
“Aye, they are meant to. However, there is a poison in this wound that is weakening him. His heartbeat is slowing and his blood congeals in his veins.” This voice held authority. Estel had called him Ada, which could only mean one thing: this was Lord Elrond.  
He had done it, he had made it to Rivendell. Legolas let out a sigh. Now all he needed to do was to tell the Lord of Imladris that he must send armies to help Thranduil. Legolas struggled to speak, tried to open his mouth again. Two hands pressed down on his shoulders. “He is awake, but not fully,” the woman’s voice said again. “You must heal him, My Lord.”  
“Aye, I must. For he was carrying an important message and we must still hear it. Estel, go fetch some water.”  
“Yes, Ada,” Estel said, and Legolas heard him leave the room on quiet feet. He paused at the door. “Haldir spoke of something that addles me,” he said after a moment. “He asked if I was certain the elf’s name was Legolas. What meaning has this name?”  
Lord Elrond moved away from Legolas. “He did not tell you who he was?”  
“No, he did not. He only said that he had to make haste to Rivendell to talk to you.”  
“Legolas is the son of the king of Mirkwood, Thranduil. He is a prince, next in line to the throne,” Elrond said softly. Estel was silent, and Legolas longed to see what emotions flickered over his face.  
“Is that so?” he asked quietly. Legolas heard him take a deep breath. “I will fetch the water as you requested.” His voice was no different than before. Legolas sighed. Perhaps he had guessed it before. Estel was sharp and did not miss much. Perhaps he would have time to speak of it when he recovered. Right now, however, the elf needed to rest. He let out a long, deep breath and relaxed. Darkness overwhelmed him, much like the darkness that overwhelmed his realm. He succumbed to it after a moment’s hesitation, for this darkness was not the evil kind.  
“Rest now, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood.” Elrond’s voice chased him into the shadows. 

Here's the Sindarin for you!  
Davo eithad anech—Let me aid you  
Eldeh—elf/elves  
Tolo—come  
Baw—Don’t  
Dago i goth—Kill the enemy  
Hir vuin, Echiou—Awaken, my lord

As usual, please let me know of anything that I missed regarding the Elvish! I will update soon! Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Rivendell, some serious story-building happens and I attempt to create a problem that will be interesting... well, let's see if it works. Also, some more action between our characters. XD

Estel took a deep breath and tapped the flat of his sword against his knee. Elrond ha told him to try to get some sleep, but he couldn’t seem to get himself to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. Sleep was out of the question.   
It was several things that caused this unrest. Legolas hadn’t awoken yet, though it had been a day since they had arrived at Imladris and Elrond had healed him. Estel was riddled with guilt. It was his fault that Legolas was in this state. He should have checked Legolas’s wound when he had been given the chance. Instead, he had given into his desires, which led him to the second thing that bothered his mind.   
Never in Estel’s life had he felt so much passion for someone, let alone for a man. He had felt as if he had been on fire, slowly burning from the inside out as Legolas held him. It scared him that he could feel so deeply, and it infuriated him that someone had that kind of sway over him.   
The third thing that was making it impossible for Estel to sit still was the Orcs. What had so many been doing so close to Imladris? Orcs never travelled so close to the wards that protected the fortress. What had Legolas come to Imladris to tell Elrond? Why had he been riding so hard?   
Now that the elf was safe and they were both out of danger and not falling on each other like wild animals, Estel had the time to wonder about everything. And why had the elf not told him of his true heritage?  
Estel cursed and stood up, beginning to pace his room. He gripped his sword tightly in one hand, swinging it at invisible foes to work off all of the energy that was contained within his limbs. He longed to run, to go far away and not have to think about anything, but Estel knew that he couldn’t. Running from his problems this time would do nothing to make them disappear.   
Estel threw his sword onto his bed with a sigh of frustration. He needed to do something. He would die of boredom simply sitting here. It would seem that fate agreed with him in that, because after a few moments, a knock came on Estel’s door. He walked over to the door in four long strides and threw it open promptly. The elf that stood outside looked a bit shocked at this violent display, but made no comment on it. He simply relayed the message, “Lord Elrond has requested that you go to the Pavilion to meet with him, Lord Haldir, Lady Galadriel and Lord Legolas.”  
“Ni lassui,” Estel said and nodded his thanks to the elf. Legolas was awake? Why had Elrond not told him of this? He felt a slight pang. He had wanted to see the elf right when he woke up and plead for forgiveness for his foolish and lust-driven acts. But at least he would see him.   
Finally, something that he could put his mind to. Estel grabbed his sword and quickly sheathed it. He needed to wash, for he had not taken the time to do more than change clothes and splash water on his face, but it could wait. Maybe Estel could finally figure out what was truly going on, and figure out a way to fix everything. 

 

Legolas winced as his shoulder twanged when he took a seat opposite Estel. He was seated between Elrond and Haldir. Galadriel sat opposite him, and next to Elrond was an empty seat that Legolas was entertaining himself on deciding who would fill it. He was completely shocked when Estel limped into the pavilion.   
“Estel,” Elrond said, rising to meet him. Legolas quickly followed suit, though Galadriel and Haldir stayed seated. Estel’s eyes found him first, flicking over his body with the precision and professionalism of a healer. Once he was satisfied that Legolas was okay, he looked back up at his face and gave him a small nod. Legolas returned the nod and sat down again.   
“Now that you have arrived, Estel, we may begin,” Elrond said, and turned to Legolas. “You rode long and hard from Mirkwood with a band or Orcs on your trail. What has happened in the land of the Wood-Elves?”  
Legolas took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts together. “My father, King Thranduil has sent me. Orcs are swarming the Mirkwood, and we are barely holding our fortress. All of our best glamour-spinners have been helping keep the wards up, but we cannot hold it for long. Twenty of my father’s best warriors accompanied me, but none survived. I was only able to survive because Estel happened to chance upon me in the forest outside of Rivendell and help me slay them. These Orcs are vicious. Thranduil would ask for troops from Imladris to come to his aid, and time is of the essence in this matter.”  
Elrond soaked in the information, the serene look on his face never flickering. He nodded after a moment. “And what news have you, Galadriel?” He turned to the beautiful woman. Legolas felt something in his stomach tighten. Every minute they wasted meant that more of his kin were growing closer to death.   
Galadriel smiled slightly. “There is a shadow passing over our realm, all of the realms of man, elf and dwarf. I have seen that the world will soon perish in flame and smoke if we do not find a way to stop this evil before it can gain much power. I see a dark king, one of the ring bearers taking control of this darkness, harnessing it for his own.” Legolas felt himself go still with shock. One of the ring bearers? There could be only one who would use the power given to him to do such evil.   
“One of the men?” he asked. Galadriel turned her brilliant blue eyes to Legolas. They penetrated him to his very soul.   
You are troubled, she said in his mind. Fear not, Elrond has a kind heart. He will send the men to help your people. Though I find that you have more sense than any of the Mirkwood elves. She tilted her head slightly to the side. If only Thranduil could have the heart his son has.   
Before Legolas could feel the relief or ponder on what Galadriel had said, she spoke aloud. “If he can be called a man,” she said. “He is known as the Witch-king of Angmar and he is vicious. He hungers for power as any man does, but his power is beyond measure. It would do you all well to remember this. For though he was mortal once and had only the power of a man, he is now much more and much more dangerous.”  
Elrond leapt to his feet. “Are you certain?” he asked, his face paling.   
Galadriel turned her attention back to the dark-haired elf once more. “Aye. I feel it as if it a sickness in my body. The darkness will consume all of Middle Earth, starting with our realms, for we pose the largest threat. Mirkwood is only the beginning. If this witch-king is allowed to continue, he will come to Imladris and break through the wards and burn your halls. The Orcs will feast on your corpses and then step on your bones as they march through to my forest. No man or eldeh will be able to kill him, for he is so consumed by power that he has surpassed mortality completely.”   
Estel drew in a sharp breath, and Legolas looked over at him, remembering that he was there only now. His eyes were wide. Elrond placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What do you propose we do?” he asked. For the first time, Legolas heard a hint of fear in his voice. It sent a chill through him.   
“Send troops to Mirkwood. We will send our men as well to join you and the Mirkwood elves in battle against the Orcs. Then we will march on the witch-king, who has hidden somewhere in the Misty Mountains and do whatever we can to kill him,” Haldir said, standing and pounding a fist on the stone table. Galadriel reached out and gently guided him back into his seat.   
“The Orcs will have to be dealt with, but we must wait to march on the Misty Mountains and the witch-king. We must find a way to gather more power,” Galadriel said.   
“Very well,” Elrond said, leaning back. “I will send five hundred elves to Mirkwood.”  
“And we will provide you with the same number,” Galadriel said to Legolas, who felt as if a burden had been removed from his shoulders. He let out a sigh and smiled for the first time in what seemed to be weeks.   
“Guren glassui,” he said and lowered his head in a sign of respect and thanks to both Elrond and Galadriel. “My father will be pleased to hear of this.” Though not of the numbers. Thranduil would have had Imladris send a thousand and the Lothorien send another thousand. He did not dwell on that, for he was beyond his father’s ridicule for the time being, and he did not want to try to bargain for more men. Elrond and Galadriel were being generous in sending troops at all.   
“It is our problem as well, do not thank us,” Elrond said. He stood and began pacing. “I will send them at first light, and they will meet up with the troops of Lothorien at the pass of the Misty Mountains, if that pleases you, my lady.”  
“Aye, it shall work,” Galadriel said, inclining her head slightly. She smiled at Elrond. “It will be good to go to battle with you once again, Mellonen.” Elrond inclined his head as well. Legolas felt himself go cold. This would be the first time in a long time all of the elves would fight together. Elrond turned to Legolas. “And we offer you our conjoint allegiance.”  
“Mirkwood gladly accepts,” Legolas said, bowing his head once more. “And we are honored to fight alongside you to rid the world of this evil.”  
“As are we,” Elrond said, smiling. “I believe we have concluded this meeting. We will speak again later of what to do after we send the troops, but for now, we must rest.”  
“Yes,” Galadriel said. “Green-leaf, you are wearied by grief and your wounds. Rest would do you well, and then you may make the decision whether or not to ride back with our troops to your homeland.”  
Legolas felt as if he was a child being sent to bed, but he did not say anything of the sort. “Of course,” he said instead, and stood. “Tenna telwan.”  
Estel watched him go with some apprehension. He had yet to talk to him. “May I also be excused from this table? I must check on the elf’s wounds,” he said in a low voice to Elrond. Elrond looked at him for a few moments and then nodded. Estel smiled his thanks and followed the elf down the stairs from the pavilion to his room. 

 

Legolas had a bath waiting for him in his room, one that he was quite ready to take advantage of. Perhaps the healing waters could ease the ache that had set deeply into his shoulder. He had not had time to look at it before he had called the meeting, but now he had provided their people salvation, and he could rest and take care of his shoulder. He leaned over the pool, trying to see the extent of the damage, but the rippling water would not give him a true image. Legolas sighed and leaned back on feet and simply sat there for a few moments.   
Gods, it felt good to just sit there and not have to keep riding, running away from Orcs. For the first time, he could simply sit and take a few deep breaths without having to worry about how close the Orcs were to him now.   
Legolas did not hear the door open, or Estel’s soft question, for he was so caught up in his peace. Estel walked swiftly over to Legolas, fearing for the elf’s welfare, but upon seeing Legolas’s tranquil face, he sighed in relief. “Mellonen,” he said, placing a hand on the elf’s shoulder.   
Legolas started, reaching up quite by instinct to cover Estel’s fingers with his own. He looked over to the man. “Estel,” he said and smiled slightly. “It is good to see you.”  
Estel kneeled down beside Legolas, still touching his shoulder. The elf had loosened his elven robe in order to try to peer at his shoulder, so Estel had no trouble pushing the fabric away from skin. Legolas started, looking up at Estel. “I must see how your shoulder fares,” he said. Legolas relaxed and finally let go of Estel’s hand so that he could have the use of both. Estel quickly slid the elf’s shoulder out of the robe. His shoulder looked much better than it had before. “I must apologize,” Estel said after a moment of prodding at the skin around the wound gently. He looked up at Legolas, who was staring off into the distance, his eyes half-lidded. Upon hearing Estel’s words, however, he looked down at the man.  
“You have nothing to apologize for. You saved my life when I surely would have died, and doing that has caused you to save Mirkwood, and the race of the eldeh.” Estel shook his head. He did not want such claims laid to his name.   
“But I failed you.” He placed a hand over the wound, cupping it so that his fingers never actually touched the inflamed skin. Legolas’s skin was hot against his, and Estel felt as if he had started burning again.   
“You have failed no one,” Legolas argued softly, touching Estel’s hand once again. “Least of all me.”  
“The elves say that men are driven by their emotions, that they do not have the same ability to reason and use logic. I had thought myself above that, but…” he paused, swallowed and laced his fingers with Legolas’. The elf brought their joined hands to rest over his heart and closed his eyes. “I meant to check your wound, but we never got the chance because I was distracted. And you were wounded and required Ada’s healing. That could have been easily avoided if I would have done as I had meant to instead of giving into my carnal desires.” Estel leaned forward and rested his head briefly against Legolas’s unhurt shoulder. “Goheno nin,” he murmured.   
Legolas leaned his head against the man’s and gripped his fingers more tightly. “U-moe edaved,” he replied. They sat like that for several moments until Legolas shifted slightly and Estel lifted his head.  
“I should go,” Estel said after a moment in which they looked at each other. “I am in dire need of a bath, and you must rest to regain your strength. You ride back to Mirkwood with Elrond and Galadriel’s troops at first light, after all.”  
Legolas started. He hadn’t even begun to give that any thought. Estel started to stand, but Legolas stopped him. “Please, stay,” he said. Estel turned back to him. The elf had risen to his knees. “I have a bath prepared here.”  
Estel blinked a few times. He had not expected the elf to ask for his company any longer. After their strange passion in the forest, he would be surprised that the elf would talk to him at all. Those sorts of things were usually unheard of among elves. Any kind of passion before marriage was almost taboo. “But do you not have use of the pool as well?”  
“Aye,” Legolas said, and a mischievous smile traced its way over his lips. “But who is to say that two cannot be in the pool? It is large enough for both of us, I assure you.” He slid the robe down his shoulder even more, exposing his bicep and collarbone. Estel turned away.   
“You tease me so,” he murmured, trying to keep the husky note out of his voice. “Surely it is not permitted. And it is not proper for a prince of Mirkwood to bathe with a mere human.”  
“You are no mere human, Estel. You are the son of Lord Elrond, and you have saved the eldeh, which is not something that many humans can say they have done.” The sound of cloth hitting the floor made Estel’s heart speed up. “It would be an honor to bathe with you.”  
“Legolas,” he said, but a finger against his lips stopped him from speaking any further. The elf was behind him, only inches away from his body.   
“Come, mellonen,” he whispered. “I must beg of you, join me.”  
Estel let out a sigh. He had been defeated for a long while, but he had tried to keep the elf’s customs as a last shield. “Very well. Since you beg me to do so.”  
“You miserable tease.” It was said lightly, and Legolas disappeared. After a moment, Estel heard the sound of Legolas entering the water and he closed his eyes briefly, and then began to undress. The elf had no idea what he did to Estel’s self-control. Estel grimaced as he turned to the pool. Legolas had his back to him, his hair fanning out like a black cloak behind him.   
The water was warm as he entered it, and he let out a small sound of satisfaction. It had been far too long since he had bathed, though it had only been the day before yesterday. The water stung the wound on his leg, but after a moment, that disappeared, and it soothed. Estel brought some of the water to his face and splashed away the dirt.   
Legolas turned around after a moment, but did not come closer, simply watched the man. The water felt amazingly good on Legolas’s sore muscles, and after a moment, he went to sit on one of the steps and lean his head back. The wound on his shoulder burned at the steam and he dared not submerge it, but he paid that no mind as he leaned back and relaxed, letting his mind drift to the soft sounds of Estel bathing.   
“How did you come to be in Imladris?” he asked after a while.   
Estel paused, looking over at the elf, who had not opened his eyes. “I remember naught how I came to be here, simply that Elrond has always been there.”  
Now Legolas did open his eyes, just to thin slits. “You have not inquired about your past?”  
“I have had no need to,” Estel said, extending his arm and washing the dirt and dried blood away from it. “I do not remember my parents and Elrond has been father enough to me that I have wanted not for anyone else.”  
“He loves you as if you were his own,” Legolas said softly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes once again. Estel could hear the note of jealousy that was in the elf’s voice, and wondered what in middle-earth he had that this beautiful elf didn’t. He tilted his head to the side as Legolas looked up at him. “Oh, listen to me not. I am simply weary.”  
“Does your father not think highly of you?” Estel asked after a moment of thinking. Legolas turned his head to the side and said nothing. “What does he find you lacking? You have beauty, skill with a bow, and with a blade no doubt, and you are a just and kind person.”  
“My father cares nothing of beauty and it is required that all elves have skill with the bow and blade. And as for my character, I am not fit to be a king. I lack the coldness of heart that I will need to make decisions that are best for the elves of Mirkwood.” He kept his voice steady and toneless. This was the first time he had dared speak of his father in such a manner. All others would have run to Thranduil for fear of what would happen if they did not, and report all that his son had told them.   
“Then your father must be a fickle and blind man indeed, for you will make a great king one day, Legolas Greenleaf,” Estel said. Legolas looked back over at him, and he felt something in his heart shift. This man… did strange things to Legolas’s heart and mind. Legolas pushed himself off of the wall and began slowly moving towards Estel.   
“If he heard you say that he would strike you dead on the spot,” he murmured, coming within touching distance of the man. He moved to the side and Estel turned with him, keeping him in his view.   
“I would like to see him try,” Estel replied. Legolas laughed internally. Yes, this human was young indeed. He believed himself invincible.   
Legolas made no other comment about his father. Instead, he reached out and wrapped his finger around a lock of Estel’s sodden hair, as dark as his own with the water wetting it. “Gerich fin vain,” he murmured, drawing himself closer to Estel. The man’s gaze flickered from Legolas’s storm-grey eyes to his lips. Legolas ran his tongue over his lower lip habitually, happy to see the reaction it brought Estel, who took in a deep, sharp breath.   
“You should not tease me so,” Estel whispered. Legolas smiled.   
“What would you have me do instead?” he asked, running his hand over the human’s shoulder. He was muscled in a way different than Legolas, thicker, denser and with wider shoulders. Legolas wrapped a hand around Estel’s bicep and squeezed gently. The man flexed involuntarily underneath the elf’s gentle touch, long slender fingers like silk against his skin.   
“I would have you kiss me.” The human’s voice was low and husky with desire and it sent a shiver down Legolas’s spine, a non-verbal answer to the desire he heard in the man’s voice.   
He raised himself out of the water so that they were face to face. “Would you?” he asked, rather cheekily, if Estel had anything to say about it. The man growled out an affirmative noise and tried to lean forward and capture the elf’s lips, but Legolas had braced his hands against Estel’s chest and held himself just centimeters from his lips. The man growled again, this time in frustration.   
“You would drive gods to madness, elf,” he said. Legolas only smiled in response, so sweetly that Estel lost track of his train of thought. He had been preparing to demand the elf stop teasing him—for the love of Eru Iluvater—but the words slipped from his tongue, leaving his speechless.   
However, Legolas quickly took mercy on the man and pressed his lips to the man’s, so lightly that it hardly felt as if there had been a touch at all. Estel let out a breath that caressed Legolas’s whole face, and then Legolas pressed his lips to the man’s once again. This time, he devoured the man’s lips, and Estel returned with equal vigor, reaching his hands up to wrap around the elf’s slim waist. Only Legolas’s hands kept a hairsbreadth of space between them, pressed flat to Estel’s chest.   
Estel felt himself spinning into that inferno Legolas set alight in him, and he was more than happy to succumb to the searing heat, because it warmed parts of him that he did not know could be warmed, those dark recesses in his mind that he had always avoided because they held only death and loneliness.   
What he had told Legolas was not entirely true. He had one memory of his father: his death. He could see it in his nightmares as if it were in slow motion; the man turning, sword in hand, to see Estel. He had shouted something, and then the ax had fallen onto his back and then there had been blood. A snarling Orc had stood behind him, and grinned manically at Estel.   
That was the one thing Estel remembered of his father, and he had long since shoved it to the back of his mind, where it festered, rotten and malignant, always haunting him in the darkest hours of the day, always there, like a shadow.   
But Legolas was a bright flame that buffered that darkness into nothingness for the time that he had his lips upon Estel’s. He had been entirely wrong in the forest to think that one kiss would rid Estel of the desire that he felt pounding through him like a second heartbeat. Oh, it was quite the opposite.   
Legolas’s heart soared as Estel’s tongue sought his out after a few heartbeats. He felt more at rest than he had in Mirkwood for months, even years. He felt complete as if he had been searching for something from the moment he was born, and he had found it. He hadn’t even realized that he had been searching for such a thing.   
This kiss was much sweeter than that of the forest, untainted by the hurried desire they had felt and the awkwardness of the first touch, and it lingered. When the man had to pull back for air, he did not release the elf or move away. He simply rested his forehead against Legolas’s and caught his breath. The elf slid a hand up to the man’s head, stroking it down his face. The stubble on the man’s face was an unusual sensation to Legolas’s hands, but not entirely unpleasant.   
The man opened his eyes after a moment, and Legolas could see something different in his eyes. Since he had first looked into the eyes of the man, he had seen the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind. That seemed to have cleared, leaving Estel’s eyes as untainted as newly polished armor. Legolas’s other hand slipped down Estel’s chest, tracing the definition of muscle he found on the man’s abdomen. Estel’s breath caught in his throat at the strange sensation the elf’s nimble fingers were causing him, somewhere deep in his stomach. He let out a huff of air and drew back slightly, realizing that both he and Legolas were completely nude in the water. Legolas let him go, seemingly content for the moment.   
“I—̋ he paused, still trying to catch his breath, and to swallow the words he really wanted to say. “We must stop,” he said after am moment. Legolas looked up at him, the lack of understanding clouding his eyes. Estel looked away from the elf’s exquisitely shaped torso, to something that would help him keep his resolve. “I cannot give myself to you knowing that you will be leaving the next day, possibly to never return again.”  
Legolas sighed. “I will not return to Mirkwood for some time, Estel. My father has his army and I have a wound to heal.”  
Estel looked back over at the elf with surprise. “Your father does not require your presence?” Legolas did not answer. Thranduil would want Legolas to return as soon as possible, and aid him in any way he could. He knew that he should risk it and return with the soldiers tomorrow, but he had reasoned with himself that he could not fight with his shoulder thus wounded. He would let it heal before he would return so that he could fight and kill as many Orcs as possible. And… he did not want to leave the man. As much as he told himself that it was for his health’s sake, it was truly for the man’s sake. He wanted to learn the man, to know him before he had to leave, and he could not do that in one night.   
“My shoulder is in no condition to wield a bow or sword,” he said finally. “And the poison has left me weak and unable to fight. I will remain here until I am fully healed. I will join my father in Mirkwood as soon as I am healed, but I am of no use to him in this state. Even he will understand that and accept it.”  
He looked up and was surprised to see the man grinning broadly. “It gladdens my heart that I will see you more than three days,” he said. Legolas returned his smile and then sighed. He was truly tired and needed to rest. Perhaps it was better that they would not continue tonight, for he feared that he would not be able to last the night.   
“Aye, as does it gladden mine,” he said, and moved to the steps. “Stay as long as you wish, but I must rest now. I find that I am wearied, and the pain will no longer keep me awake.”  
“Very well,” Estel said, turning away from the elf as he began walking up the steps. It seemed a sin to look upon a body so beautiful without Legolas’s absolute and complete consent. The elf wrapped himself in a robe and went to lay on the bed that was provided to him with the room.   
Estel took a seat on one of the steps and soaked for quite a while before he brought himself to leave the water’s warmth. The elf did not stir as he walked over to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a second robe and quickly wrapped it around himself. He went to sit on the opposite side of the bed to re-bandage his leg, and then decided that it would not hurt him to lie down beside the elf for a bit.   
Just a few moments, he promised himself. And then I will leave Legolas to rest in peace. He felt his eyes slipping shut, but could not seem to keep them open. He gave into sleep a moment later without the slightest hint of a struggle, only to awake much later, when an elf came knocking at Legolas’s door to alert him that Elrond wanted him to join him to dine. 

Estel took a deep breath and tapped the flat of his sword against his knee. Elrond ha told him to try to get some sleep, but he couldn’t seem to get himself to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. Sleep was out of the question.   
It was several things that caused this unrest. Legolas hadn’t awoken yet, though it had been a day since they had arrived at Imladris and Elrond had healed him. Estel was riddled with guilt. It was his fault that Legolas was in this state. He should have checked Legolas’s wound when he had been given the chance. Instead, he had given into his desires, which led him to the second thing that bothered his mind.   
Never in Estel’s life had he felt so much passion for someone, let alone for a man. He had felt as if he had been on fire, slowly burning from the inside out as Legolas held him. It scared him that he could feel so deeply, and it infuriated him that someone had that kind of sway over him.   
The third thing that was making it impossible for Estel to sit still was the Orcs. What had so many been doing so close to Imladris? Orcs never travelled so close to the wards that protected the fortress. What had Legolas come to Imladris to tell Elrond? Why had he been riding so hard?   
Now that the elf was safe and they were both out of danger and not falling on each other like wild animals, Estel had the time to wonder about everything. And why had the elf not told him of his true heritage?  
Estel cursed and stood up, beginning to pace his room. He gripped his sword tightly in one hand, swinging it at invisible foes to work off all of the energy that was contained within his limbs. He longed to run, to go far away and not have to think about anything, but Estel knew that he couldn’t. Running from his problems this time would do nothing to make them disappear.   
Estel threw his sword onto his bed with a sigh of frustration. He needed to do something. He would die of boredom simply sitting here. It would seem that fate agreed with him in that, because after a few moments, a knock came on Estel’s door. He walked over to the door in four long strides and threw it open promptly. The elf that stood outside looked a bit shocked at this violent display, but made no comment on it. He simply relayed the message, “Lord Elrond has requested that you go to the Pavilion to meet with him, Lord Haldir, Lady Galadriel and Lord Legolas.”  
“Ni lassui,” Estel said and nodded his thanks to the elf. Legolas was awake? Why had Elrond not told him of this? He felt a slight pang. He had wanted to see the elf right when he woke up and plead for forgiveness for his foolish and lust-driven acts. But at least he would see him.   
Finally, something that he could put his mind to. Estel grabbed his sword and quickly sheathed it. He needed to wash, for he had not taken the time to do more than change clothes and splash water on his face, but it could wait. Maybe Estel could finally figure out what was truly going on, and figure out a way to fix everything. 

 

Legolas winced as his shoulder twanged when he took a seat opposite Estel. He was seated between Elrond and Haldir. Galadriel sat opposite him, and next to Elrond was an empty seat that Legolas was entertaining himself on deciding who would fill it. He was completely shocked when Estel limped into the pavilion.   
“Estel,” Elrond said, rising to meet him. Legolas quickly followed suit, though Galadriel and Haldir stayed seated. Estel’s eyes found him first, flicking over his body with the precision and professionalism of a healer. Once he was satisfied that Legolas was okay, he looked back up at his face and gave him a small nod. Legolas returned the nod and sat down again.   
“Now that you have arrived, Estel, we may begin,” Elrond said, and turned to Legolas. “You rode long and hard from Mirkwood with a band or Orcs on your trail. What has happened in the land of the Wood-Elves?”  
Legolas took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts together. “My father, King Thranduil has sent me. Orcs are swarming the Mirkwood, and we are barely holding our fortress. All of our best glamour-spinners have been helping keep the wards up, but we cannot hold it for long. Twenty of my father’s best warriors accompanied me, but none survived. I was only able to survive because Estel happened to chance upon me in the forest outside of Rivendell and help me slay them. These Orcs are vicious. Thranduil would ask for troops from Imladris to come to his aid, and time is of the essence in this matter.”  
Elrond soaked in the information, the serene look on his face never flickering. He nodded after a moment. “And what news have you, Galadriel?” He turned to the beautiful woman. Legolas felt something in his stomach tighten. Every minute they wasted meant that more of his kin were growing closer to death.   
Galadriel smiled slightly. “There is a shadow passing over our realm, all of the realms of man, elf and dwarf. I have seen that the world will soon perish in flame and smoke if we do not find a way to stop this evil before it can gain much power. I see a dark king, one of the ring bearers taking control of this darkness, harnessing it for his own.” Legolas felt himself go still with shock. One of the ring bearers? There could be only one who would use the power given to him to do such evil.   
“One of the men?” he asked. Galadriel turned her brilliant blue eyes to Legolas. They penetrated him to his very soul.   
You are troubled, she said in his mind. Fear not, Elrond has a kind heart. He will send the men to help your people. Though I find that you have more sense than any of the Mirkwood elves. She tilted her head slightly to the side. If only Thranduil could have the heart his son has.   
Before Legolas could feel the relief or ponder on what Galadriel had said, she spoke aloud. “If he can be called a man,” she said. “He is known as the Witch-king of Angmar and he is vicious. He hungers for power as any man does, but his power is beyond measure. It would do you all well to remember this. For though he was mortal once and had only the power of a man, he is now much more and much more dangerous.”  
Elrond leapt to his feet. “Are you certain?” he asked, his face paling.   
Galadriel turned her attention back to the dark-haired elf once more. “Aye. I feel it as if it a sickness in my body. The darkness will consume all of Middle Earth, starting with our realms, for we pose the largest threat. Mirkwood is only the beginning. If this witch-king is allowed to continue, he will come to Imladris and break through the wards and burn your halls. The Orcs will feast on your corpses and then step on your bones as they march through to my forest. No man or eldeh will be able to kill him, for he is so consumed by power that he has surpassed mortality completely.”   
Estel drew in a sharp breath, and Legolas looked over at him, remembering that he was there only now. His eyes were wide. Elrond placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What do you propose we do?” he asked. For the first time, Legolas heard a hint of fear in his voice. It sent a chill through him.   
“Send troops to Mirkwood. We will send our men as well to join you and the Mirkwood elves in battle against the Orcs. Then we will march on the witch-king, who has hidden somewhere in the Misty Mountains and do whatever we can to kill him,” Haldir said, standing and pounding a fist on the stone table. Galadriel reached out and gently guided him back into his seat.   
“The Orcs will have to be dealt with, but we must wait to march on the Misty Mountains and the witch-king. We must find a way to gather more power,” Galadriel said.   
“Very well,” Elrond said, leaning back. “I will send five hundred elves to Mirkwood.”  
“And we will provide you with the same number,” Galadriel said to Legolas, who felt as if a burden had been removed from his shoulders. He let out a sigh and smiled for the first time in what seemed to be weeks.   
“Guren glassui,” he said and lowered his head in a sign of respect and thanks to both Elrond and Galadriel. “My father will be pleased to hear of this.” Though not of the numbers. Thranduil would have had Imladris send a thousand and the Lothorien send another thousand. He did not dwell on that, for he was beyond his father’s ridicule for the time being, and he did not want to try to bargain for more men. Elrond and Galadriel were being generous in sending troops at all.   
“It is our problem as well, do not thank us,” Elrond said. He stood and began pacing. “I will send them at first light, and they will meet up with the troops of Lothorien at the pass of the Misty Mountains, if that pleases you, my lady.”  
“Aye, it shall work,” Galadriel said, inclining her head slightly. She smiled at Elrond. “It will be good to go to battle with you once again, Mellonen.” Elrond inclined his head as well. Legolas felt himself go cold. This would be the first time in a long time all of the elves would fight together. Elrond turned to Legolas. “And we offer you our conjoint allegiance.”  
“Mirkwood gladly accepts,” Legolas said, bowing his head once more. “And we are honored to fight alongside you to rid the world of this evil.”  
“As are we,” Elrond said, smiling. “I believe we have concluded this meeting. We will speak again later of what to do after we send the troops, but for now, we must rest.”  
“Yes,” Galadriel said. “Green-leaf, you are wearied by grief and your wounds. Rest would do you well, and then you may make the decision whether or not to ride back with our troops to your homeland.”  
Legolas felt as if he was a child being sent to bed, but he did not say anything of the sort. “Of course,” he said instead, and stood. “Tenna telwan.”  
Estel watched him go with some apprehension. He had yet to talk to him. “May I also be excused from this table? I must check on the elf’s wounds,” he said in a low voice to Elrond. Elrond looked at him for a few moments and then nodded. Estel smiled his thanks and followed the elf down the stairs from the pavilion to his room. 

 

Legolas had a bath waiting for him in his room, one that he was quite ready to take advantage of. Perhaps the healing waters could ease the ache that had set deeply into his shoulder. He had not had time to look at it before he had called the meeting, but now he had provided their people salvation, and he could rest and take care of his shoulder. He leaned over the pool, trying to see the extent of the damage, but the rippling water would not give him a true image. Legolas sighed and leaned back on feet and simply sat there for a few moments.   
Gods, it felt good to just sit there and not have to keep riding, running away from Orcs. For the first time, he could simply sit and take a few deep breaths without having to worry about how close the Orcs were to him now.   
Legolas did not hear the door open, or Estel’s soft question, for he was so caught up in his peace. Estel walked swiftly over to Legolas, fearing for the elf’s welfare, but upon seeing Legolas’s tranquil face, he sighed in relief. “Mellonen,” he said, placing a hand on the elf’s shoulder.   
Legolas started, reaching up quite by instinct to cover Estel’s fingers with his own. He looked over to the man. “Estel,” he said and smiled slightly. “It is good to see you.”  
Estel kneeled down beside Legolas, still touching his shoulder. The elf had loosened his elven robe in order to try to peer at his shoulder, so Estel had no trouble pushing the fabric away from skin. Legolas started, looking up at Estel. “I must see how your shoulder fares,” he said. Legolas relaxed and finally let go of Estel’s hand so that he could have the use of both. Estel quickly slid the elf’s shoulder out of the robe. His shoulder looked much better than it had before. “I must apologize,” Estel said after a moment of prodding at the skin around the wound gently. He looked up at Legolas, who was staring off into the distance, his eyes half-lidded. Upon hearing Estel’s words, however, he looked down at the man.  
“You have nothing to apologize for. You saved my life when I surely would have died, and doing that has caused you to save Mirkwood, and the race of the eldeh.” Estel shook his head. He did not want such claims laid to his name.   
“But I failed you.” He placed a hand over the wound, cupping it so that his fingers never actually touched the inflamed skin. Legolas’s skin was hot against his, and Estel felt as if he had started burning again.   
“You have failed no one,” Legolas argued softly, touching Estel’s hand once again. “Least of all me.”  
“The elves say that men are driven by their emotions, that they do not have the same ability to reason and use logic. I had thought myself above that, but…” he paused, swallowed and laced his fingers with Legolas’. The elf brought their joined hands to rest over his heart and closed his eyes. “I meant to check your wound, but we never got the chance because I was distracted. And you were wounded and required Ada’s healing. That could have been easily avoided if I would have done as I had meant to instead of giving into my carnal desires.” Estel leaned forward and rested his head briefly against Legolas’s unhurt shoulder. “Goheno nin,” he murmured.   
Legolas leaned his head against the man’s and gripped his fingers more tightly. “U-moe edaved,” he replied. They sat like that for several moments until Legolas shifted slightly and Estel lifted his head.  
“I should go,” Estel said after a moment in which they looked at each other. “I am in dire need of a bath, and you must rest to regain your strength. You ride back to Mirkwood with Elrond and Galadriel’s troops at first light, after all.”  
Legolas started. He hadn’t even begun to give that any thought. Estel started to stand, but Legolas stopped him. “Please, stay,” he said. Estel turned back to him. The elf had risen to his knees. “I have a bath prepared here.”  
Estel blinked a few times. He had not expected the elf to ask for his company any longer. After their strange passion in the forest, he would be surprised that the elf would talk to him at all. Those sorts of things were usually unheard of among elves. Any kind of passion before marriage was almost taboo. “But do you not have use of the pool as well?”  
“Aye,” Legolas said, and a mischievous smile traced its way over his lips. “But who is to say that two cannot be in the pool? It is large enough for both of us, I assure you.” He slid the robe down his shoulder even more, exposing his bicep and collarbone. Estel turned away.   
“You tease me so,” he murmured, trying to keep the husky note out of his voice. “Surely it is not permitted. And it is not proper for a prince of Mirkwood to bathe with a mere human.”  
“You are no mere human, Estel. You are the son of Lord Elrond, and you have saved the eldeh, which is not something that many humans can say they have done.” The sound of cloth hitting the floor made Estel’s heart speed up. “It would be an honor to bathe with you.”  
“Legolas,” he said, but a finger against his lips stopped him from speaking any further. The elf was behind him, only inches away from his body.   
“Come, mellonen,” he whispered. “I must beg of you, join me.”  
Estel let out a sigh. He had been defeated for a long while, but he had tried to keep the elf’s customs as a last shield. “Very well. Since you beg me to do so.”  
“You miserable tease.” It was said lightly, and Legolas disappeared. After a moment, Estel heard the sound of Legolas entering the water and he closed his eyes briefly, and then began to undress. The elf had no idea what he did to Estel’s self-control. Estel grimaced as he turned to the pool. Legolas had his back to him, his hair fanning out like a black cloak behind him.   
The water was warm as he entered it, and he let out a small sound of satisfaction. It had been far too long since he had bathed, though it had only been the day before yesterday. The water stung the wound on his leg, but after a moment, that disappeared, and it soothed. Estel brought some of the water to his face and splashed away the dirt.   
Legolas turned around after a moment, but did not come closer, simply watched the man. The water felt amazingly good on Legolas’s sore muscles, and after a moment, he went to sit on one of the steps and lean his head back. The wound on his shoulder burned at the steam and he dared not submerge it, but he paid that no mind as he leaned back and relaxed, letting his mind drift to the soft sounds of Estel bathing.   
“How did you come to be in Imladris?” he asked after a while.   
Estel paused, looking over at the elf, who had not opened his eyes. “I remember naught how I came to be here, simply that Elrond has always been there.”  
Now Legolas did open his eyes, just to thin slits. “You have not inquired about your past?”  
“I have had no need to,” Estel said, extending his arm and washing the dirt and dried blood away from it. “I do not remember my parents and Elrond has been father enough to me that I have wanted not for anyone else.”  
“He loves you as if you were his own,” Legolas said softly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes once again. Estel could hear the note of jealousy that was in the elf’s voice, and wondered what in middle-earth he had that this beautiful elf didn’t. He tilted his head to the side as Legolas looked up at him. “Oh, listen to me not. I am simply weary.”  
“Does your father not think highly of you?” Estel asked after a moment of thinking. Legolas turned his head to the side and said nothing. “What does he find you lacking? You have beauty, skill with a bow, and with a blade no doubt, and you are a just and kind person.”  
“My father cares nothing of beauty and it is required that all elves have skill with the bow and blade. And as for my character, I am not fit to be a king. I lack the coldness of heart that I will need to make decisions that are best for the elves of Mirkwood.” He kept his voice steady and toneless. This was the first time he had dared speak of his father in such a manner. All others would have run to Thranduil for fear of what would happen if they did not, and report all that his son had told them.   
“Then your father must be a fickle and blind man indeed, for you will make a great king one day, Legolas Greenleaf,” Estel said. Legolas looked back over at him, and he felt something in his heart shift. This man… did strange things to Legolas’s heart and mind. Legolas pushed himself off of the wall and began slowly moving towards Estel.   
“If he heard you say that he would strike you dead on the spot,” he murmured, coming within touching distance of the man. He moved to the side and Estel turned with him, keeping him in his view.   
“I would like to see him try,” Estel replied. Legolas laughed internally. Yes, this human was young indeed. He believed himself invincible.   
Legolas made no other comment about his father. Instead, he reached out and wrapped his finger around a lock of Estel’s sodden hair, as dark as his own with the water wetting it. “Gerich fin vain,” he murmured, drawing himself closer to Estel. The man’s gaze flickered from Legolas’s storm-grey eyes to his lips. Legolas ran his tongue over his lower lip habitually, happy to see the reaction it brought Estel, who took in a deep, sharp breath.   
“You should not tease me so,” Estel whispered. Legolas smiled.   
“What would you have me do instead?” he asked, running his hand over the human’s shoulder. He was muscled in a way different than Legolas, thicker, denser and with wider shoulders. Legolas wrapped a hand around Estel’s bicep and squeezed gently. The man flexed involuntarily underneath the elf’s gentle touch, long slender fingers like silk against his skin.   
“I would have you kiss me.” The human’s voice was low and husky with desire and it sent a shiver down Legolas’s spine, a non-verbal answer to the desire he heard in the man’s voice.   
He raised himself out of the water so that they were face to face. “Would you?” he asked, rather cheekily, if Estel had anything to say about it. The man growled out an affirmative noise and tried to lean forward and capture the elf’s lips, but Legolas had braced his hands against Estel’s chest and held himself just centimeters from his lips. The man growled again, this time in frustration.   
“You would drive gods to madness, elf,” he said. Legolas only smiled in response, so sweetly that Estel lost track of his train of thought. He had been preparing to demand the elf stop teasing him—for the love of Eru Iluvater—but the words slipped from his tongue, leaving his speechless.   
However, Legolas quickly took mercy on the man and pressed his lips to the man’s, so lightly that it hardly felt as if there had been a touch at all. Estel let out a breath that caressed Legolas’s whole face, and then Legolas pressed his lips to the man’s once again. This time, he devoured the man’s lips, and Estel returned with equal vigor, reaching his hands up to wrap around the elf’s slim waist. Only Legolas’s hands kept a hairsbreadth of space between them, pressed flat to Estel’s chest.   
Estel felt himself spinning into that inferno Legolas set alight in him, and he was more than happy to succumb to the searing heat, because it warmed parts of him that he did not know could be warmed, those dark recesses in his mind that he had always avoided because they held only death and loneliness.   
What he had told Legolas was not entirely true. He had one memory of his father: his death. He could see it in his nightmares as if it were in slow motion; the man turning, sword in hand, to see Estel. He had shouted something, and then the ax had fallen onto his back and then there had been blood. A snarling Orc had stood behind him, and grinned manically at Estel.   
That was the one thing Estel remembered of his father, and he had long since shoved it to the back of his mind, where it festered, rotten and malignant, always haunting him in the darkest hours of the day, always there, like a shadow.   
But Legolas was a bright flame that buffered that darkness into nothingness for the time that he had his lips upon Estel’s. He had been entirely wrong in the forest to think that one kiss would rid Estel of the desire that he felt pounding through him like a second heartbeat. Oh, it was quite the opposite.   
Legolas’s heart soared as Estel’s tongue sought his out after a few heartbeats. He felt more at rest than he had in Mirkwood for months, even years. He felt complete as if he had been searching for something from the moment he was born, and he had found it. He hadn’t even realized that he had been searching for such a thing.   
This kiss was much sweeter than that of the forest, untainted by the hurried desire they had felt and the awkwardness of the first touch, and it lingered. When the man had to pull back for air, he did not release the elf or move away. He simply rested his forehead against Legolas’s and caught his breath. The elf slid a hand up to the man’s head, stroking it down his face. The stubble on the man’s face was an unusual sensation to Legolas’s hands, but not entirely unpleasant.   
The man opened his eyes after a moment, and Legolas could see something different in his eyes. Since he had first looked into the eyes of the man, he had seen the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind. That seemed to have cleared, leaving Estel’s eyes as untainted as newly polished armor. Legolas’s other hand slipped down Estel’s chest, tracing the definition of muscle he found on the man’s abdomen. Estel’s breath caught in his throat at the strange sensation the elf’s nimble fingers were causing him, somewhere deep in his stomach. He let out a huff of air and drew back slightly, realizing that both he and Legolas were completely nude in the water. Legolas let him go, seemingly content for the moment.   
“I—̋ he paused, still trying to catch his breath, and to swallow the words he really wanted to say. “We must stop,” he said after am moment. Legolas looked up at him, the lack of understanding clouding his eyes. Estel looked away from the elf’s exquisitely shaped torso, to something that would help him keep his resolve. “I cannot give myself to you knowing that you will be leaving the next day, possibly to never return again.”  
Legolas sighed. “I will not return to Mirkwood for some time, Estel. My father has his army and I have a wound to heal.”  
Estel looked back over at the elf with surprise. “Your father does not require your presence?” Legolas did not answer. Thranduil would want Legolas to return as soon as possible, and aid him in any way he could. He knew that he should risk it and return with the soldiers tomorrow, but he had reasoned with himself that he could not fight with his shoulder thus wounded. He would let it heal before he would return so that he could fight and kill as many Orcs as possible. And… he did not want to leave the man. As much as he told himself that it was for his health’s sake, it was truly for the man’s sake. He wanted to learn the man, to know him before he had to leave, and he could not do that in one night.   
“My shoulder is in no condition to wield a bow or sword,” he said finally. “And the poison has left me weak and unable to fight. I will remain here until I am fully healed. I will join my father in Mirkwood as soon as I am healed, but I am of no use to him in this state. Even he will understand that and accept it.”  
He looked up and was surprised to see the man grinning broadly. “It gladdens my heart that I will see you more than three days,” he said. Legolas returned his smile and then sighed. He was truly tired and needed to rest. Perhaps it was better that they would not continue tonight, for he feared that he would not be able to last the night.   
“Aye, as does it gladden mine,” he said, and moved to the steps. “Stay as long as you wish, but I must rest now. I find that I am wearied, and the pain will no longer keep me awake.”  
“Very well,” Estel said, turning away from the elf as he began walking up the steps. It seemed a sin to look upon a body so beautiful without Legolas’s absolute and complete consent. The elf wrapped himself in a robe and went to lay on the bed that was provided to him with the room.   
Estel took a seat on one of the steps and soaked for quite a while before he brought himself to leave the water’s warmth. The elf did not stir as he walked over to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a second robe and quickly wrapped it around himself. He went to sit on the opposite side of the bed to re-bandage his leg, and then decided that it would not hurt him to lie down beside the elf for a bit.   
Just a few moments, he promised himself. And then I will leave Legolas to rest in peace. He felt his eyes slipping shut, but could not seem to keep them open. He gave into sleep a moment later without the slightest hint of a struggle, only to awake much later, when an elf came knocking at Legolas’s door to alert him that Elrond wanted him to join him to dine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know that we deal with the Witch-King in LotR, but he must have stirred up some mischief before he became Sauron’s henchman, because, otherwise, how would we have known of him? So, yeah, just a random idea I got while I was being an insomniac last night. So yeah, there we have it. This is turning into something completely different than what I originally imagined it, but I kind of like this better than my original idea.   
> Thanks again for the views, reviews, favorites and follows! I really appreciate it! Remember, please review and tell me what I am doing wrong and if you have any questions, concerns, comments, or whatever else, just let me know. Thanks!  
> Sindarin!!!!  
> Na lassui—Thank you  
> Eldeh—another word for elf  
> Guren glassui—thank you from the bottom of my heart  
> Mellonen—my friend  
> Tenna telwan—until later  
> Goheno nin—Forgive me  
> U-moe edaved—There is nothing to forgive  
> Gerich fin vain—Your hair is beautiful  
> Eru Iluvater—“The One” (The creator of Middle Earth) 
> 
> Thanks again, and I will update ASAP!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffiness and random stuff to get the rest of the fortnight before Midsummers Eve done. Enjoy. If you can, I'm completely convinced that this chapter sucks.

Chapter 5

Elrond looked up as his son and the Prince from Mirkwood entered the dining hall. The both looked well-rested, and Elrond felt something that had been knotted in his stomach release. He had been worried when Estel had come home to him, bruised and battered, with a pack of Orcs on his tail. His human son always managed to draw such trouble to him, and he had naught a clue how.   
Legolas was dressed in a pair of Estel’s clothes. The tunic was too large around the shoulders and the trousers slightly too long, rolled up twice. The elf looked nearly like one of their own, with the clothes of Imladris. However, there was a way he held himself that spoke of Thranduil’s heir, a tilt of his jaw, the way he looked at people he interacted with, as if he knew something about them that they were not aware of.  
Elrond remembered the cold-hearted, hot-headed king of Mirkwood very well, and felt a shiver go down his spine. Never in his life had he met such a temperamental, passionate elf, and he wondered if Legolas was anything like his father. From their brief meeting, he had learned that the elf was much less domineering than Thranduil, and if Estel had taken a liking to him, then he must have a kind enough heart.   
“Estel,” he said quietly. The table of the elves fell silent. Galadriel looked around at the man and the elf, and smiled at them. “Are you well?”  
Estel bowed his head. “Aye, Ada. Le hannon.”   
“Sais, join us in our feast,” Elrond said, motioning with his hand to the greens that were spread out on the table.   
Estel nodded and looked over at Legolas, who had bowed his head as well in respect. “We would be honored to join you, Ada.”  
Elrond waved away his formality, but did not correct it. Estel and Legolas sat down, and began helping themselves to the food. Legolas was unsure of these foods. The forests of Mirkwood had significantly different plants than the forest that surrounded Imladris, and he did not know what would be to his liking. He was embarrassed to ask, however, for it would make him seem uneducated. Legolas sighed inwardly. Perhaps he should have paid attention to more of his tutor’s lessons about the other elves. He had been young, and only able to think about what would happen next week and the farthest, and did not see the possible meaning any of those lessons had held.   
Oh, I would have done well to listen, Legolas thought with a grimace.   
Estel glanced over at Legolas laughed inwardly. The elf had no clue what to eat. He leaned close and said, “Get what I put on my plate,” low enough that no one else could hear.   
“Le fael,” Legolas muttered back, feeling exceptionally foolish. Estel gave Legolas a cheeky grin and continued gathering food on his plate. Legolas mimicked his movements as discreetly as he could but he had the feeling that the other elves knew exactly what he was doing.   
“How fares your shoulder, Legolas?” Elrond asked after several minutes in which he and Galadriel were discussing how many bowmen to send to Mirkwood. Legolas started and looked over at Elrond in surprise.   
“I—it is much better now, due to your healing. Le fael, mellonin.” Legolas dipped his head in a sign of gratitude. Elrond smiled warmly at him.   
“Of course. I would help any friend of Thranduil’s. Though his temper is swift and unjudged often times, your father is a good leader, Legolas.”  
“You know my Ada?” Legolas asked, surprised.   
Elrond smiled again. “Aye. He has been a comrade throughout the ages.”   
Estel blinked, but did not ask anything of his father. He had not known that his adoptive father had such ties to the elves of Mirkwood. He spoke of Thranduil as if he knew him well enough to call him mellonin, yet he had made no mention of it to Estel. In fact, Estel could never recall him saying anything of the Mirkwood king beyond a passing comment in all of his time that he had been at Imladris. Legolas looked as confused as he did, but did not speak.   
Elrond’s eyes had focused somewhere over Legolas’s shoulder, as if he was remembering something from a long time ago. After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself and nodded to Legolas. “How long do you plan to say in Imladris?”  
“I am of no use to my father to fight with my shoulder in this condition,” Legolas said after a moment. “I believe I will remain here until it is functional again, if you will have me.”  
Elrond inclined his head. “You are welcome to stay as long as you wish, Legolas Greenleaf. I am sure that Estel would be more than happy to show you all of the wonders of Imladris while you stay. This is your first time at our haven, is it not?”  
Legolas nodded. “Aye, I have never had the pleasure of laying my eyes on your beautiful lands before.”  
“Very well.” And with that, the Lord of Imladris’s attention shifted once again back to Galadriel. “And how long will your duration be?”  
“I shall stay with you until our armies return. I have no need to return; I have sent our fastest riders back to send my men.”  
“Aye, it is a pleasure to have your company here, my lady,” Elrond said.   
The dinner shifted to more trivial matters after that, and Estel found himself tuning out of what Elrond was saying, instead watching Legolas. The elf was chewing his food slowly, watching the other elves with eyes slightly narrowed, as if he was trying to figure something out. He saw Estel watching and gave him a slight smile and went back to eating.   
Estel leaned in close once more and whispered into Legolas’s ear, “I am glad that you stay with us, if only for a bit longer.” He drew back so that he could see Legolas’s reaction. The elf looked over at him, but Estel could not read the look in his eyes. Then, a smile that could rival the brightness of the sun broke over his face.   
“And I am glad to be staying as well. It is a refreshing change from the darkening woods of my homeland.” He raised his glass, filled with Elrond’s finest wine, and toasted Estel, who returned the toast with a flourish.

 

The fortnight before Midsummer’s Even and Estel’s twentieth year on Arda flew by quickly, yet tricked by in the lazy afternoons. Estel took Legolas all throughout Imladris, intent on showing him every place he had known since he was a child. They spent the mornings walking the streets, Estel pointing out places of interest. In the afternoons, they would go down to the river, where they would sit on the bank and talk.  
They talked about everything and nothing, things that had some importance and things that did not. Estel learned of Legolas’s upbringing in the Mirkwood. He learned of Thranduil, the seemingly emotionless king who Elrond claimed to know as a good leader. Legolas told him of great battles and of the forest, whose trees whispered in the winds. They were able to pretend that the shadow of war was not creeping up on them, slowly but surely.  
“What of love?” Estel asked on the sixth day of Legolas’s stay. Legolas had been lost in a memory of going down a river in a fair boat, six elves rowing in perfect synchronization.   
“Love?” Legolas asked in surprise. “What do you wish to know of love?”  
Estel propped himself up on one side. They were lying side by side, staring up at the cloudless sky. Legolas turned his head to look at the man. A leaf tickled his sensitive ear, and he moved it slightly more to the side. The man was looking down at him, something unreadable in his eyes. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Legolas’s face. “You are so fair of face, surely you have had lovers. Multitudes of them.”  
Legolas laughed. “Oh, Estel, you flatter me so.” He sat up. “I am but an elfling compared to many of my kind. Some would say that I have not had enough years to be able to speak of love.”  
“And what say you?” Estel asked softly, the pad of his thumb ghosting over the elf’s cheek. They had not touched again, as they had in the forest or in the bath. Their few touches had held only friendship, as if neither was ready to cross the invisible boundary, the only thing that kept them from being each other’s’ fully and completely. Duty held Legolas back, as he knew that if he gave himself to the human, he would be loath to leave him for battle and for the cold, emptiness of Mirkwood. Estel was wary of giving his heart so easily to the elf; his life was a mere flash compared to the mortality. And he was restless again, to leave, to go beyond the reach of the protective spells of Imladris, to see Arda.   
Legolas looked down. “I thought I loved someone once,” he murmured. Estel drew his hand back and set it on his leg, listening. Who had captured his fair elf’s heart? Legolas slanted a quick look up at Estel underneath his dark lashes to gauge his reaction. “She was many centuries older than me and one of Thranduil’s best bowmen. However, her heart was long dead, buried with her mate’s, who had died in the Battle of the Gladden Fields.” Estel made a noise of surprise. Legolas looked over at him in surprise.  
“So long ago,” he said.   
“Aye. For you, perhaps. To one of us, a hundred years is a blink of an eye, a thousand a mere breath.”  
“What happened?” Estel asked after a moment. He felt uncomfortable, being spoken of as if he was a child. He was almost a man, and though he was young by the elves’ standards, he was by no means a child.   
Legolas sighed. “She told me in the gentlest possible way that it could never happen. I made a proposition to her on Midsummer’s Eve, and that is when she told me of her mate’s death.”  
Estel was quiet for a bit. “But there have been no others?”  
“Nay,” Legolas said quietly. “I learned that love is more painful than it is worth. Though my father says that true love hurts. I believe that I do not want a part of love if it will rend my heart in two.”  
Something tightened in Estel’s chest. Those words should have no effect on him, none at all. Yet they did. “Not all love is doomed to be bittersweet as that,” he found himself murmuring.   
Legolas turned a curious eye to the man. “And what do you know of love?” he asked. “You are more graceful and well-mannered than most of your kind. I am sure some of the elves would have wanted to try a new flavor.”  
Estel looked down, feeling light color dusting his cheeks. He had participated in his fair share of stolen kisses and hurried couplings under archways and in Elrond’s gardens, but he had never gone so far as to say that he had loved any of the elves. “They have been curious.”  
Legolas laughed again, and reached forward, tilting Estel’s face back up so that he could see it. “Yet you blush over the mere mention, mellonin. I would venture to say that no one has tasted you, not yet.”  
“It is not kind to make fun,” Estel muttered, trying to look away, down, somewhere else than the elf’s dancing eyes. He did not correct the elf, for it would seem childish. “And I suppose that you have?” he tried to make a jab back at Legolas, who only laughed and finally released his chin.   
“Love and lust are two very different subjects. They are two very different feelings. Aye, I have tasted the fruit of passion, the fruit of lust.”  
“Is that what we have?” Estel asked, almost quietly enough that Legolas missed it. Legolas had been looking at the grass between them, but at the man’s words, he looked up at his face. The man had his eyes cast to the ground as well, but as he looked slowly up, Legolas could see the burning desire to know the truth in his eyes.   
Legolas reached out and covered Estel’s hand with his own. He could not give him a decisive answer, for he knew not what it was that they had. “I know not what we have, mellonin,” he said gently. They did not speak of love after that, but simply sat together in the forest, watching the day go by. 

 

It started simply and completely innocent. Estel followed Legolas up to his room after Elrond’s feast the first night, in order to make sure that he did not tear his wound during the night. He slept in a chair near Legolas’s bed. It was the same for the second, third and fourth nights. On the fifth, however, Estel was awoken by Legolas sitting upright in bed his hand reaching for his hunting dagger, shouting in Sindarin. Estel had taken ahold of his broadsword and wildly stood up, swinging at the air. After nothing had jumped out at them, Estel had turned to Legolas, who looked as if he was still caught in the nightmare that must have plagued him.   
“What ails you, mellonin?” he asked, coming to sit beside Legolas on the bed. Legolas looked at him with wide eyes, as if he did not recognize him. He blinked thrice, and then recognition flooded his eyes. He let out a breath and slumped back, resting his dagger on his thigh. Estel reached out and gently placed his hand on the elf’s shoulder. Legolas leaned into the touch, and Estel could feel the archer’s slim frame shaking.   
“Tolo,” Estel murmured, pulling the elf closer to him, wrapping his arms around Legolas and guiding the elf’s head to his shoulder. Legolas did not struggle, simply obliged, and soon the shaking stopped. He was left with the haunting of his dream and the smell of the man. He took in deep breaths of the musky scent, wanting to ground himself once again in the land of the living.   
Estel drew back, and placed his hands on either side of Legolas’s face, drawing it up to meet his gaze. “What ails you, my friend?” he repeated.   
Legolas closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “I see them all around me, begging me for mercy, begging me to change their fate. They would not have died if I had not taken them with me. They beg me to join them.” He did not need to elaborate on who he was talking about. Estel’s eyes were dark with understanding.   
“You needed them to come with you,” he reassured, stroking his fingers along Legolas’s face in reassurance. “And nay, you must not join them, for you still have meaning in this world. You must help us fight this evil that is upon us. They have done their part, and now they may rest. Your part is not yet over.”  
Legolas was silent for a long time. “You are wise for one of your age,” he said finally, looking up at Estel.   
Estel smiled slightly. “I have been around Ada too long,” he said in a softly teasing voice. Legolas felt his lips twitch up in spite of himself, chasing away the last of the coldness in his heart. Estel saw the last of the sorrow retreat deep in Legolas’s eyes and began to pull away, to return to his chair.   
“Wait,” he murmured. He needed the man’s warmth to keep the darkness and the cold at bay. “Sais, join me.”  
He motioned to the stretch of bed beside him. Estel pondered the bed and then looked back at Legolas. “Are you certain?”  
“Aye.”   
Estel nodded and carefully climbed over the prone figure of the elf and eased himself onto the bed. Legolas watched him, eyes shining in the almost-darkness. Soon, they were settled beside each other, almost close enough to touch, but not quite.   
“Le hannon,” Legolas murmured after several heartbeats of silence. Estel shushed him with a feather-light brush of a finger over his lips.   
“It is no hardship for me,” he answered, in just as low a tone of voice. “Sleep now. You need to regain your strength quickly, and sitting awake at night talking will not help you any.”  
Legolas nearly laughed at the statement, but kept the sound from bubbling up his throat. He obeyed and closed his eyes, a slight smile curling the corners of his lips up. He held completely still as Estel’s fingers brushed over his cheek, and brushed a lock of hair from his face, before brushing across his lower lip once more. “I will not sleep if you tease me so,” he murmured, his lips brushing against Estel’s fingertips again. Something fluttered in his chest and made his heart beat faster as the man’s calloused fingers brushed the sensitive skin, but Estel was right. He needed rest. He turned away from the touch and let out a sigh.   
“Aye,” Estel said, and shifted slightly, Legolas opened his eyes to find him lying on his back, his eyes closed once more. The moonlight filtering through the room turned the man’s hair darker and his skin lighter, almost glowingly white. Legolas found himself reaching out to trace a finger over the man’s jaw and the slight stubble there. Elves did not grow hair on their faces, and the feeling was completely foreign to Legolas. He remembered the feel of it against his face, and took in a sharp breath. Estel’s eyes opened once more and he smiled. “I cannot sleep with you teasing me thus,” he said cheekily.   
Legolas pulled back. “Goheno nin,” he murmured, and turned on his side, and closed his eyes once more. He dreamt of nothing else that night.   
After that, it was almost as if it was expected of Estel to rest beside Legolas. There was no question, no hesitation when Estel claimed the far side of the bed instead of his usual chair.   
On the sixth night of this new arrangement, Estel felt the bed shift under him, and opened his eyes to see Legolas moving across the room to the balcony. He stood still in the moonlight, in naught but a robe that was loosely tied around his waist, still as a statue. Estel stood up and silently padded to where he stood, head tilted up towards the moon, eyes closed as if he was listening for something.   
When he opened his eyes, Estel could see the sheer longing in them, a restless energy that spoke to Estel’s own heart. “What is it, mellonin?” he asked, looking out towards the forest.   
Legolas sighed. “You must know of the eldeh’s love of the sea.”  
“Aye,” Estel said and nodded. He had often heard Elrond regard the sea as another might regard an old-time lover.   
“It has been calling to me for some time now,” Legolas said, his nostrils flaring, as if he was smelling the salty air. “In my dreams, I hear it calling me back home. I came out to clear my head of the sound of the rushing waves.”  
“The sea is calling us home,” Estel murmured. Legolas did not question this, simply nodded. It was something Elrond had said many a time. He felt the same need, to go beyond Elrond’s forests, to see what the world had to offer. He knew of Legolas’s plight. “Will you answer it?”  
“Nay,” Legolas said, shaking his head. He turned away from the forest. “I have something to do, I sense. It will be some time before I can heed its call.”  
Estel bowed his head. “If there is anything I can do…”  
“Nay, mellonin. I thank you, but I do not wish to lose my connection with the sea. It brings me comfort, to know that once I am done here, I can sail to the undying lands with my people.”  
“Aye,” Estel said, and looked out at the forest. “That must be comfort indeed.”  
Legolas looked back at the man. “You speak as if you have no comfort for your own.”  
Estel shook his head. “It is nothing,” he said. “A young man’s folly.”  
Legolas came to stand beside Estel. “This young man’s folly interests me,” he murmured. Estel looked over at the elf and smiled.   
“I long to go and explore. I wish to know that all that I see is not my existence. There is more in this world than this realm, I know that, and I would like to taste the food of my own kind and drink their ale. I wish to dance among the dwarves in their mines and to speak with a dragon. Perhaps, even lay eyes upon one of the great wizards of old.” He paused, taking a deep breath, and tried to control his emotions. “I cannot leave Ada,” he said in a much calmer voice. “He has done more than anyone should have, and I cannot abandon him to his realm.”  
“You would not abandon him, for you would carry him forever in your heart. As he would you.” Legolas reached out and placed a hand over Estel’s heart, causing the organ to begin beating faster underneath the elf’s slender hand.  
“Aye, I would,” Estel sighed, putting a hand over Legolas’s. “But I mean to return, and what if I die before I can return to walk the halls of Imladris? I know that I am mortal, and that my life is a mere blink for one of your kind. What if Elrond does not remember me?” He is all that I have in this world, I could not bear to lose him.   
Legolas put his other hand on Estel’s shoulder. “He would not forget you.”  
Estel did not say anything else of the matter, just stood there with the elf, watching the stars twinkle above them for a long while. “I make my choice on Midsummer’s Eve,” he murmured eventually.   
“And Elrond will love you all the same, for any choice that you make. He understands your desire, for he feels the same desire, for the sea and for our homeland. He will not shun you for leaving him,” Legolas murmured, resting his head against Estel’s shoulder. Estel reached up and wound his fingers in the strands of Legolas’s hair that spilled across his shoulder.   
“How can you be so sure?” he whispered. “I feel an obligation to stay and help him in any way we can.”  
“If I were a father, I would not loathe any choice that my kin made,” Legolas said. “For I would understand their need for something more than a place like this. You are not obliged to help with anything that you do not wish to, Estel.”  
Estel let his head rest upon Legolas’s. “You comfort me. Le hannon, mellonin.”  
“I am simply telling you what is so. Let us retire. You are cold.” Legolas pulled Estel inside after a few moments, and they both lay back down on the bed. Estel lay awake for a long time, pondering what Legolas had said, until his heavy eyes drew shut and he dreamed of dancing with a dragon through the long tunnels of a dwarfish mine.

 

The day before Midsummers Eve trickled by so slowly that Estel had to fight his impatience, yet went too quickly at the same time Legolas’s shoulder was nearly healed by this time, and he had told Elrond over dinner that he planned to return the Midsummers Day after the festivities had ended.   
All of Imladris was preparing for the feast and the festivities. Eldeh were preparing all kinds of food for everyone to indulge in, and the glen down by the river was to be decorated as it was every year for all of the inhabitants of Imladris, as well as anyone else who happened to be passing through on Midsummers Eve.   
In Imladris and all of the other Elven cultures, Midsummers Eve and Day were celebrated much the same. The feast would start at midday on Midsummers Eve, and would not stop until midday a day later. There would be singing and dancing until the moon reached its highest point. At that point, the elves would all fall silent. Not a sound would be heard in the forest save the trees whispering among themselves, until the sun rose once again. They would usher in the dawn with songs of their people, songs of summer and the death of spring. Estel had never been allowed to the festivities before by Elrond, for apparently, there were many things that happened to usher in the time of the sun that “young eyes should not see.” That had not stopped him from hiding in the forest and watching the proceedings with interest.   
However, as Estel was to turn a man on Midsummers Eve, he would be allowed to attend for the first time. The first time he would be allowed to attend at Elrond’s consent at least. Estel smiled at that, forgetting his heavy heart for the moment.   
“How do you celebrate Midsummers?” he asked Legolas as they walked the halls of Imladris. Legolas looked over at him with surprise.  
“No different than you celebrate yours, I am guessing,” he said. “Although we cannot hold it in the forest any longer, for the woods have grown dark and unforgiving. We have it indoors.”  
Estel shook his head. “Bringing in the summer without even being in the forest? That must be hard for you.”  
“Aye.” Legolas did not elaborate, and Estel pushed no further. The rest of the day passed with little consequence. There was only one thing that stuck in Estel’s mind. Elrond had found Legolas and Estel as they returned to Legolas’s room.   
“Find me before the moon reaches its highest point tomorrow night and I will tell you all that you need to know to make your decision about staying or leaving,” he had said to Estel. The words had left him breathless. Elrond knew something that would influence his decision? What could it be? The name and location of a relative, perhaps?   
After a sleepless night in which he had watched the steady, gentle rise and fall of Legolas’s chest as he slept, Estel only felt more confused. He longed to hear what Elrond had to tell him, but at the same time he knew that it would change him. He would not be able to go back to being carefree and young as he had before.   
“Estel,” Legolas said softly, sitting beside him. They were at the river bank again, and Estel was peering down into the river at his reflection, but not focusing on it. “Mellonin, you cannot worry the day away.” He reached over and placed a single slim finger underneath Estel’s chin and drew his face up so that he could look him in the eye. “Whatever Elrond tells you, you are still the same man.”  
“Perhaps not,” Estel said. Legolas put the finger under Estel’s chin on his lips, silencing him quite effectively.   
“You are a good man, and no matter what Elrond will tell you, you still have the same heart, the heart that I find that I am coming to care for.”  
Estel’s eyes met the elf’s. “Legolas?” The elf smiled serenely at Estel, who was wondering if he had misheard. He opened his mouth to ask as much, but before he could utter a syllable, Legolas was pulling him to his feet, to his chest. Estel’s noise of surprise was cut off as Legolas crushed his lips to the man’s. Estel’s lips parted in surprise, and then he remembered himself and matched the fervor with which the elf was kissing him.   
At first it was desperation that fueled their passion. The man and the elf clutched at each other as if they were each other’s only lifeline in the middle of the ocean. Estel had to break away first to catch his breath after several heartbeats of this frantic passion. He placed his hands on the elf’s chest and slid them upwards, to tangle in the silky locks of hair. Legolas leaned his forehead against Estel’s and cupped his hands around the man’s face.   
They stayed like that for several moments, panting, their eyes closed and completely caught up in the moment. Estel captured Legolas’s lips again when he found breath again. This time, it was sweet and tender, slow and unhurried. Legolas let out a noise of contentment that was lost between their lips as Estel’s tongue brushed his lower lip, searching for an invitation which Legolas was more than happy to provide.   
Soon their tongues were twining together, and Estel felt something hot running through him like a second heartbeat. He somehow knew that no matter how much he kissed the elf, there would be no damper on the physical and emotional feelings it brought to him. Nothing had ever compared to this and nothing ever would.   
Legolas’s hands were sliding down his neck to trace the edge of his shirt, the clasp, and soon his nimble fingers had undone the clasp and he was touching bare flesh. Estel let out a breath as Legolas’s fingers skimmed over his collarbone and down one pectoral, his fingernails grazing the smooth, unmarred skin. Estel drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected touch. Legolas broke away, the silent question in his eyes, but Estel shook his head and leaned forward to press a light kiss to Legolas’s cheek and then his ear. The elf’s hands slid up to Estel’s shoulders and grasped them hard as Estel gently bit the elf’s ear.   
“By the Valar,” he breathed, looking up at the cloudless sky. “You know how to pleasure an elf.”  
“Aye,” Estel said, smiling against the elf’s neck. “I am not as inexperienced as you might think, mellonin.”  
Legolas attempted to say something else, but then his words fell to dust as Estel reclaimed his lips. He closed his eyes once more. This feeling was something that he could get used to. Electric energy raced through his veins, like fire but even hotter and even more lethal. It was exhilarating and it almost felt like—  
Legolas pulled away. What he had said to the man was true. He had come to care for Estel in a way that he did not fully comprehend, but just then, in that moment, he got a glimpse of it, and it shocked him. He had not known the depths of his feelings.   
“Did I hurt you?” Estel asked, running a finger over Legolas’s swollen lips. Had he perhaps bitten them too sharply?  
“Nay,” Legolas said. “Do not worry about wounding me.”  
“What troubles you?” It was such a simple question, and yet it held so much weight. Legolas felt something in his chest tighten. He wanted to tell Estel, ed’ l’ear ar’ elenea, he wanted to, but he could not. Legolas was not used to sharing his emotions. With only Thranduil and Thranduil’s men for company, he had forgone expressing anything to anyone. Thranduil would just mock it and tell him that emotions such as these made him weak.   
He remembered the last time he had been foolish enough to allow himself the indulgence of speaking his true feelings to someone. “You will not find what you are looking for here. I am sorry, I cannot give you what you seek.” Her words had been gentle, but they had been resolute. She had been meant for her one love, and him alone. Legolas would go to great pains to avoid that kind of rejection again. “Nothing,” he sighed after a moment. Estel looked ready to protest, so Legolas pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I am simply thinking.”  
“Thinking? On what?” Estel drew away and began working at the clasp of his shirt, to redo it. Legolas stilled his hand and slid his fingers over the man’s smooth skin once again. He inhaled deeply. It felt so right, what they had. He shook his head.   
“My return to my king.”  
Estel lowered his eyes. “Aye. You must return, and I will not see you again in my short mortal life. I know how it must play out.   
“It does not have to be that way. Thranduil must return here someday. Though I cannot ask you to wait for me. I know how deep the longing in your blood lies. If you must leave, do so.”  
Estel turned away from the elf. The sudden panic that had rushed through him at the mention of Legolas’s departure was completely foreign to him. “Aye,” he murmured.   
“Let us forget our troubles,” Legolas said, pulling Estel back to face him. “We have yet a day and a night. We will not squander it by fretting over futures we cannot possibly foresee.”  
“You are ever wise,” Estel murmured, leaning his head against the elf’s shoulder. He breathed in the smell of the woods and the wild that Legolas always seemed to be wreathed in. It was a scent that would haunt Estel for the rest of his life, he knew that already. “Aye, let us treasure these few moments we still have for ourselves.”  
Legolas wrapped his arms around the man once more and held him close to his chest. He could pretend, if only for a while, that all was right in the world and that this man belonged completely to him. He did not have obligations back in Mirkwood, he was an elf who did as he pleased when he felt so swayed to do so. It was a pretty lie, and all too believable, breathing in the scent of the man, who seemed to make him forget everything that was bad in this world of his.   
“I will stay with you as long as I can, mellonin,” Legolas told Estel, who did not respond. He felt the barest brush of lips upon his neck, and then the man pulled away.   
“Le hannon, mellonin,” he responded. “I would be honored to have you by my side through Midsummers Eve and Day.”  
“And I you.” Legolas bowed his head. A glint of light caught his eye, and he glanced up. Three riders on white steeds approached the gates of Imladris at a fast gallop. From this distance, Legolas could only tell that they were Elrond’s elves and that they were in bad shape. “Estel,” he said. At the sharpening of the elf’s voice, Estel looked up and followed Legolas’s gaze. He paled. “It’s Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir. The twins were meant to return tomorrow. We should inform Elrond of their return.”   
“Aye,” Estel said, and took off at a run for his father’s study, Legolas hot on his heels. 

 

“Estel,” Elladan called as he rode up. Estel looked over at him. The dark-haired elf was bleeding from a slash on his temple, painting the side of his face red. Elrohir leapt off of his horse and helped his brother down. The moment Elladan was off of his horse, he sagged against Elrohir, who struggled to support the elf’s full weight.  
“What happened?” Estel asked, coming over to the twins. He touched the skin right beneath the wound. The blood was cold and tacky. At least the bleeding had stopped. He turned Elladan’s head to the side and inspected the wound more thoroughly.  
“We were ambushed by Orcs,” Elrohir said, spitting the last word as if it was the vilest of curses. “They caught us by surprise.”  
“Aye, there are many Orcs wandering these woods,” Estel said.   
“Where is Ada?” Elrohir asked urgently as Elladan’s head rolled back onto his brother’s shoulder.   
“In his study, or down at the clearing,” Estel said. “Legolas,” he started, but Legolas had already started back down the way they had come. He nodded at Estel, who murmured a quick thank you and then turned back to the twins. “Let me aid you,” he said, slipping an arm around Elladan’s waist. “We can take him to Ada’s study. Legolas will find him if he is not there already.”  
“Legolas,” Elrohir grunted as they hoisted the elf up the steps of the hall. “The prince of Mirkwood?”  
“Aye.”  
“What business does he have in Imladris?”  
“The King sent him. Why have you come home early? You were meant to return tomorrow.” They quickly carried Elladan down the hall quickly.   
“We saw Ada’s army marching with the Lady of Light’s men, and we knew not what had gone wrong. We made haste to return, thinking the worst,” Elrohir said.   
“They march to Mirkwood. There is an evil between our forests, up in the Misty Mountains that threatens to destroy Middle Earth. The Witch King of the legends of old is there,” Estel said, sliding out from under the weight of Elladan to knock on Elrond’s door. There was no answer. Estel paused. He had been instructed to never enter Elrond’s study without permission, as it was quite rude to burst in on the Lord of Rivendell, but he feared he had no choice in this matter.   
He opened the door and directed Elrohir to set Elladan down on the settee. Once he had settled him in, Estel grabbed the nearest piece of fabric and began dabbing at Elladan’s forehead. “The cut is shallow,” he said after a moment, letting out a breath. It had simply sliced through the flesh, but had not scraped bone, and would not cause any lasting effects. Head wounds tended to bleed profusely, no matter how shallow they happened to be. It was hard to tell how bad a wound could be with all of the blood around it. Estel let out a breath and leaned back. “He is okay,” he told Elrohir, who was hovering around Estel like a bird looking for a perch on his shoulder. “The bleeding has stopped and it is a shallow wound. He will be fine.”  
Legolas burst into the office a few heartbeats later, Elrond only inches behind him. “Yondonya,” Elrond said, dropping to his knees beside Estel. He looked over at Estel. “How does he fare?”  
Estel repeated what he had told Elrohir, and Elrond let out a breath. He reached out and touched his son’s forehead. He closed his eyes and murmured something in Sindarin. Estel felt something shift in the air. It wasn’t an audible breeze or a sound, but something shifted as Elrond called upon the magic of Imladris to heal his son.   
Elladan’s eyes, which had closed upon being lain on the settee opened up as the wound on his forehead closed. He hissed out a breath, and tried to sit up. “Erde, yondonya. You have lost much blood,” Elrond said gently, his hand keeping his son down. Elladan’s eyes met Elrond’s.   
“We made it,” he murmured, and then he closed his eyes.   
Elrond let out a breath. “Le fael,” he said to Legolas.   
“Sais,” Legolas said, bowing his head. “It was Estel who sent me.”  
Elrond’s eyes shifted to Estel. “Le fael,” he repeated softly, reaching out and gripping Estel’s shoulder. “To the both of you.” He stood and straightened his robe. There was blood on his hand, which he did not seem to notice as he smeared it over the midnight fabric. Estel opened his mouth to tell him of that, but Elrond cut him off. “The festivities are about to begin. If you would like to go to the clearing, I will join you shortly in feast.”  
“Aye, Ada,” Estel said, standing and bowing. Legolas hesitated a moment, looking at Elrond, who nodded. Legolas bowed once more and joined Estel and the door. As soon as they were out of the door. Legolas grasped Estel’s hand. He drew it to his lips and brushed the knuckles softly. Estel shivered but did not pull back.   
“Will you join me for Midsummers Eve?” Legolas murmured.   
Estel turned his hand so that he could twine his fingers with Legolas’s. “Of course.”  
Legolas drew away with a wickedly beautiful grin. “Tolo,” he said, not letting go of Estel’s hand. “Let us sing, and dance and make merry.” Estel followed without a question. 

Another horrible place to end, but it’s getting really long. Sorry, guys. So, yeah. This chapter dragged on and on for me and I’m not completely sure it’s not total crap. But hey, I’m trying. It’s almost to the part we’ve all been waiting for, so that’s good! Right?  
I mentioned a few things that may or may not imply Thranduil/Elrond, if you ship them. (I do…. I see a fanfic in the future) so please excuse those random references.  
Okay, onto the Elvish. 

La fael—Thank you (Like thank you very, very much.)  
Mellonin—my friend  
Le hannon—yet another way to say thank you (more casual and such)  
Eldeh—elf  
Arda—another name for Middle Earth  
Valar—the first I don’t know, people? put on Middle Earth to battle evil  
Ed’ l’ear ar’ elenea—By the sea and the stars  
Yondonya—my son  
Erde—Rest  
Tolo—Come


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is THE CHAPTER, so if you aren't a fan of naked men getting it on, I suggest you skip this one.   
> Thanks!!! Please let me know if there's anything wrong, I'd like to perfect this as much as it can be perfected!

The bonfire roared like a dragon and threw shadows over everything, making inanimate objects dance as if they were alive. Estel was leaning against a tree, watching the elves dancing and singing. The last sun of spring had just set and the bonfire had just been lit. The feast would start soon. Elrond still had not joined the festivities, and Estel was hanging back from the fire in order to watch for the elf Lord.   
Estel sighed and shifted slightly, his eyes coming to fall upon Legolas, who was twining his way through the crowd to bring Estel a drink. The elf looked exotic in the firelight, a slightly golden tinge to his usual pale skin, and the light made his fair, sharp features almost vulpine. As Legolas reached him, Estel realized that he had been unabashedly sharing and dropped his gaze. Something about the air was thick with magic tonight. The kind of magic that would make Estel forget himself and his duty. It would make him forget that Legolas was a prince of the Mirkwood realm and that they could never be together. He would give himself completely the elf if he wasn’t careful.   
Legolas handed Estel his drink and leaned against the tree next to him. “Do you not dance, Estel?” he asked teasingly.   
Estel looked over at him and raised one eyebrow. “I cannot dance as well as you or another elf, if that is what you are asking.”  
“Nay,” Legolas said. He turned back to the crowd. He was thrumming with energy, as if he were a brimming cup and one more drop, and he would spill over. He wanted to dance, as any elf did on this night. It was not completely by their own volition that the elves danced on this night.   
The forest called to them in a way that it rarely did, filled them with the energy of the new season and made their blood scorch with the magic. The elves could not resist the call of the forest, the silent song that Estel had never heard, no matter how many times he had listened. They fulfilled it through movement or pleasures of the flesh. It was the single night once a year that the elves were free with their love.   
“I do dance, if I can be persuaded quite thoroughly,” Estel said after a moment. Legolas looked at him once more.   
“And how would one go about persuading you?” Legolas asked, sliding his fingers over Estel’s.   
“Perhaps if you ask nicely,” Estel murmured, grinning at Legolas.   
“That is no persuasion at all,” Legolas said, and ran his hand up Estel’s arm. He rested his palm against Estel’s chest, feeling the steady pound of his heart, which increased slightly at the contact. “Does your blood not sing tonight?” he murmured. “Do you not feel the call of the forest?”  
“Nay, for I am but a man and I shall never understand the call of the forest.”  
“Let me show you,” Legolas murmured. He was close now, close enough for them to breathe the same air. He looked up into Estel’s eyes, and Estel could see the near madness that the forest had brought him, the fervor. “’Sais.”  
“Aye,” Estel said, nodding his consent. Legolas had probably not experienced the call of the forest for many years, with the sickening of the Greenwood. It would affect him even more than it did the other elves. Legolas took Estel’s drink and set it down on the ground, before taking both of his hands and leading him closer to the bonfire.   
He began moving in time to the song that Estel could not hear, slowly at first, pulling Estel with him. The elves began singing a song that Estel knew well, a song that spoke of the death of spring and the birth of summer. Around the fire they went, again and again, until both Legolas and Estel’s bodies gleamed with sweat and they were breathless. Legolas was smiling, his head thrown back in rapture, humming along with the elves. He hadn’t let go of Estel’s hands, and the man had given up trying to match Legolas’s movements. He was simply trying to keep up with the elf.   
It all blurred together, the chanting of the elves, the fire roaring, the feel of the grass below Estel’s bare feet, the feel of Legolas’s fingers entwined with his. At one point, Legolas kissed him, and his lips tasted of crushed juniper berries and something sweet that was in the wine. It was then that the burning desire slid into his veins.  
It felt as if he were burning from the inside out, as if he was made of fire and fire was him. He clutched onto Legolas’s arm and panted, “I want…”  
“I know, mellonin. I want as well,” Legolas said, putting a hand over his. Estel had to put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He felt as if he was drunk, though he had naught but a few sips of the wine.   
“What is happening?” Estel asked after a moment, glancing up at the elf. Legolas’s eyes were unnaturally bright, burning with the same fever that raced through Estel’s veins. “Why am I feeling this?”  
“You are part of the celebration this year, for you have come of age,” Legolas said. “You were raised by elves. It would only make sense that you would feel what we are feeling. And this magic can affect the race of men as well as the eldeh.” The words were logical, but the tone was not. Legolas’s voice was breathy and laced with the same desire that Estel felt burning in his veins. It reared at that note of desire, and Estel jerked as a wave of pure desire crashed over him. The heat engulfed his body, turning him into a pure, raging inferno. He could not handle this heat, it was too overwhelming. Water, he needed water.  
“Legolas—“  
Legolas pulled him upright and drew him away from the fire. “Perhaps you should rest here for a bit,” he said, turning to go back to the fire.   
“No,” Estel whispered. “I’ll go mad if I sit still. Come with me to the river.”  
Legolas turned back to him and smiled. He reached out a hand, which Estel gladly took, and they made their way to the river. Estel knelt by the bank and desperately plunged his hands in. He could almost hear the skin on his arms sizzling as he cooled them in the water. He let out a sigh of relief.  
“I’m burning up from the inside,” he murmured as Legolas kneeled next to him.   
“Nay, it is simply the magic,” Legolas murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. Estel looked down at his reflection. He could not see much in the pale moonlight, but his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and he looked feverish. There was a hunger on his face that surprised him.   
“This magic is old and strong, indeed,” he murmured and splashed some of the river’s cooling water onto his face. The relief was temporary, but sweet. He let out a breath as his muscles unclenched for a few heartbeats and his pulse ceased to race. The desire remained as a burning ball of fire in his stomach. At the moment, however, he was grateful for the reprieve. However, the lack of the fervor caused him to take notice of the lack of energy in his body. He slumped to the ground and closed his eyes.   
“Mellonin?” Legolas asked, his hands light on his shoulders, as if he was afraid to touch him.   
“Just give me a moment to rest,” Estel murmured. “I will join you momentarily.”  
“Estel,” a new voice said, and Estel’s eyes flew open. Elrond peered down at him, looking slightly exasperated. “Have you had too much of the wine?”  
“Nay,” Legolas answered for him. “He is feeling the effects of the woods.”  
Elrond made a noise of surprise, but did not respond. Instead, Estel found himself being hoisted up. “Come, Estel. I must speak with you before the feast,” Elrond muttered. “Legolas, go join the others. We shall join the feast after a few brief words.”  
“With all due respect,” Legolas said, “my lord Elrond.” Elrond paused and Estel managed to open his eyes to see Legolas bowing his head. “I gave my word that Estel would not spend this night alone. I do not intend to leave his side.”  
Elrond hesitated. What are you doing? Estel thought, but couldn’t muster the strength to ask it. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “I believe that Estel would trust you enough to hear this.”  
The thought hit Estel like cold water. He remembered his Ada’s words from earlier. All traces of exhaustion left his body, and he jerked his head upright. “Ada?” He stood up more surely, and Elrond let go of his arm.   
Elrond’s face was grim. “It has come time for you to know of your heritage.”  
Estel was tempted to speak. You told me you knew not of my parents. Elves did not usually lie unless it was for the benefit of someone they cared for, to keep them safe and out of harm. Estel clenched his jaw.   
“Your father’s name was Arathorn,” Elrond said. “I had fought many alongside him before his death. Your mother was Gilraen.”  
Estel took a deep breath and tried to soak this in. “Arathorn.” The name was completely foreign to his tongue. “Gilraen.” His voice sounded dead compared to the emotions that were flooding through him. Betrayal; Elrond had known who he was all of this time and he had never told him any of it. Anger; how dare Elrond keep this from him? Sadness; he would never know the face behind these names. He would never have any good memories to remind him of his time as a child.   
Elrond paused for a moment before continuing. “Your father was a very important man, Estel.”  
“Why did you not speak of this?” Estel attempted to keep all emotion from his voice.   
“It was for your protection. There are those who would kill you simply to hear your name, to hear your lineage.”  
“My name is Estel, is it not?” Estel’s voice was completely calm still. His gaze flicked to Legolas, who was holding completely still, the full force of his gaze trained on Elrond. He looked as if he was searching for something in Elrond’s face that Estel could not fathom to consider looking for.   
“Nay. That name was given to you in an attempt to conceal your true identity.”  
Estel turned away from both elves. His life had been a lie. Something inside of him was crashing down, and he knew not what it was.   
“You are Aragorn the second, son of Arathorn.”  
“That name means nothing to me,” Estel growled, clenching his hands into fists.   
“Do not brush it off so easily,” Elrond snapped. Estel turned to look at the elf, who still looked grim. There is more? Estel despaired inwardly. Elrond drew from his cloak something wrapped in cloth. It was long and narrow. He handed it to Estel. Something shifted inside, and Estel frowned, setting it down on the forest floor. He unwrapped it slowly. Perhaps he did not want to see what it contained. Perhaps it would change him, and all of his fears would become true.   
It was… a sword, broken into pieces. Estel frowned. Legolas came up beside him and drew a sharp breath. Estel looked up at him. “What is it?”  
“This…” Legolas kneeled down beside Estel and touched the hilt of the blade. It was of fine make and looked to be very old, but Estel could not see why it would bring such a reaction to his friend.   
“What is it?” Estel asked. The words fought to not come out of Estel’s mouth. He did not want to know, he did not want this broken sword. Did not want it to have a name.   
“The shards of Narsil,” Legolas murmured. There was something akin to awe in his voice. “The sword that cut the ring off of Sauron’s hand.”  
Estel stiffened. He had heard the stories; all of them had. Stories about the man who had cut the One Ring off of Sauron’s finger. He had also heard the stories of how it had driven him mad with the lust of power. “What does this have to do with me?” Estel asked, standing to face Elrond.   
Elrond spread his hands. “You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Isildur’s descendant.”  
“No,” Estel whispered. He knew of the treachery of that man, the sorrow that he had brought upon Arda.   
“Heir to the throne of Gondor. You are meant to rule men.”  
“No, Ada, sais, pusta,” Estel pleaded. “Do not say that is so.” Something in him felt as if it were breaking. If he was such a man, then he would bring only death and ruin upon anyone he dared to call friend. The name could only bring death and destruction.   
“I am sorry,” Elrond said, lowering his head. “I wished to tell you. It would have been your death.”  
“No,” Estel said again, backing up. “No, daro.” He would wake up from this terrible dream and find himself lying next to Legolas on their shared bed. He would sit bolt upright, and Legolas would murmur sweet words to him, pressing butterfly-light kisses to his shoulders and neck until he laid back down.   
“Estel, sais,” Elrond said, reaching out.   
“No!” Estel shouted it this time, and turned and ran. He felt the tears running down his face, but he could not remember feeling them well in his eyes. He could not even remember feeling the urge to shed tears. He stumbled blindly for some time before tripping over a tree root. His hands slammed into the dirt, layers of skin peeling back. The hot rush of blood over his palms made this all the more real.   
This was no dream. The strength of Estel’s arms left, and he fell the rest of the way down onto the ground, pressing his cheek into the soft dirt, a twig jabbing the hollow between his jaw and cheekbone.   
“Estel?” the voice was nearer to him than it ought to have been. If he was in his right mind, Estel would have heard Legolas approaching. He turned his face away from the voice.   
“Ego,” he said, his voice hard and harsh.   
A hand settled on his shoulder, light as a feather. “Mellonin,” Legolas murmured, and the sympathy, the understanding and the promise that he would not leave Estel’s side that was contained in that one word was enough to nearly rend Estel’s heart in two.   
“I’m a monster,” he whispered, sitting up. Legolas was crouched beside him. “Isuldir was a man who was overtaken by the need for power. He let Arda fall into darkness because of his lust for power. That same blood flows through my veins. I am just as weak as he.”  
“You are not Isuldir,” Legolas said. He moved his hand from Estel’s shoulder to cup his face, thumb brushing along Estel’s cheek. Estel pulled away and stood up.  
“My heart is as corrupted as his,” he hissed. He spun around, trying to find his bearings. He had never been in this clearing before, and he knew not where to go. A stream babbled nearby, the cheery sound a sharp contrast to the weight on Estel’s heart. He stormed over to it and kicked the water, sending it arching through the air in a spray of crystalline drops.   
“Nay,” Legolas insisted. Estel did not turn around to face him.   
“How can you know of that?” Estel asked. “How do you not feel disgust when you look at me? The same blood that runs through my veins caused the downfall of Arda. We would be living in peace and prosperity if not for Isuldir. The Orcs were brought about by Sauron’s minion, the witch king. All of this could have been avoided if the strength of Isuldir had not failed that day.”  
Legolas said nothing. Estel turned to find that he was standing, watching Estel with a blank look on his face.   
“Elrond walked into Mount Doom with the man, and he witnessed his weakness. How could he look at me and see anything but that same weakness?”  
Legolas moved to him then and took his hands in his. “Because he sees that you are a better man. Elrond looks at you and he sees hope. Why would he have named you Estel if he did not see the hope that you could bring us all?”  
Estel looked away but made no move to stop Legolas as he slid his hands up Estel’s arms. “What if he is wrong? What if I—“  
Estel was cut off as Legolas pressed his lips to the man’s. He resisted at first, tried to get away, he did not deserve these soft touches and caresses. Legolas, however, insisted. Soon, Estel’s hands were cupping the elf’s shoulders, drawing him nearer, his tongue searching for union with Legolas’s. The man tasted of sorrow and betrayal. His lips were salty with tears and the last lingering traces of the few sips of wine he had drunk.   
The desire that was thrumming in Legolas’s body took over as he ran his hands across the man’s chest. He needed Estel, needed him in the way he needed air to breathe. He began working at the ties of Estel’s tunic. “Let me show you,” he panted, breaking away long enough to utter the words, “that you are not weak.” He pressed another kiss to Estel’s lips. “Let me prove to you that your heart is pure.”  
Estel made no comment, simply captured the elf’s lips once more. His fingers traced up Legolas’s chest to the collar of his tunic, tracing the strip of skin that was visible. The desire that had been a ball of flame inside of his stomach exploded into a full inferno once more, and it burned through him a desire that could only be answered by Legolas.   
They were soon running their hands along the bare skin of the other, and Estel took the opportunity to break away from Legolas’s kiss and trail his lips down the elf’s jaw, to his neck. Estel backed them up to a tree, shedding clothes as they moved. Soon, the two were pressed together, chest to chest, with naught but their trousers between them.   
The desire that ran through the both of them was enough to keep them going. Before, they had remembered their obligations, their worries. But tonight was different. Tonight, it would take a great force of nature to stop them from becoming the other’s completely.   
Legolas gripped Estel’s shoulders as his back hit the hard trunk of the tree. He broke away from Estel’s lips and tilted his head back, trying to catch his breath. He had tried to hold his desire back, but the forest was all around him, and it was seeping into his very bones. He had to get this magic out somehow. He had participated in many Midsummers Eve celebrations and knew that this helped, this physical intimacy was even better than dancing, but he was not sure if Estel was completely himself.   
“Do you want this?” he panted. He pushed Estel away from him slightly in an attempt to help him think logically.  
Estel did not resist, but pressed his pelvis against Legolas, who gasped at the hardness he felt against his thigh. Legolas looked down into the man’s eyes, dark with desire. “Aye,” Estel growled.   
Legolas reached down and began working at the lacings of Estel’s trousers, his fingers clumsy with his desire-ridden mind. Estel traced his fingers down the elf’s lean, taut-as-a-drum stomach, and began mirroring Legolas. The two worked at their tasks for a few moments, Estel cursing under his breath as his fingers slipped over the fabric.   
They eventually parted once more to kick off their pants, and then it was simply flesh against flesh. Legolas hoisted himself up so that he had wrapped his legs around Estel’s waist. He was against the tree again, hair caught on the rough bark.   
Estel made an animalistic sound and bit the edge of Legolas’s ear. The elf gasped and gripped his fingers onto Estel’s back as waves of pleasure washed over him. The tanned skin was hot, too hot, against his fingers, muscles shifting and rippling under the elf’s clawed fingers. They had both begun rolling their hips, flesh clashing, attempting to find a release for this building pleasure, but Valar, Estel wanted more. The elf’s fingernails cut into his flesh, painting the smooth, soft skin red with scratches as wave after wave of desire crashed over him, building towards a crescendo that would have Legolas shouting Estel’s name to the stars.   
“I—“ Estel gasped out, trying to find words for what he desired. Legolas drew back and skimmed his fingers down Estel’s chest.   
“I know, nin meleth,” Legolas murmured. He was aching, aching for Estel’s touch since he had stopped moving against him. Or perhaps his lips on every inch of his body. He arched his back and Estel let loose a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl. “Let me down,” he murmured into the man’s ear as Estel buried his face in the elf’s neck. His muscles tightened under Legolas’s fingers, before he drew back.   
Legolas carefully unwrapped his legs from Estel’s body and stumbled over to their clothes, trying to find his cloak. He had brought it, just in case he would find someone who would share the pleasures of the flesh with him through the night. He had never imagined it would be Estel who would be in his arms, causing such emotions to run through his blood like fire. The man was one he cared for, yes, but he had duties—his duties could atua miqula orqu. He finally found the vial and turned to find Estel leaning against the tree, taking deep breaths. “Legolas,” he growled.   
“Tolo,” Legolas murmured, pulling Estel to him. He held up the vial. “To ease the passage,” he murmured and held it out to Estel.   
Estel found himself long enough to give Legolas a wry smile. “You have thought of everything,” he murmured. “Le hannon.”  
Legolas pressed his lips to Estel’s neck as the man worked to get himself ready, his body thrumming in desire while waiting. He spread his cloak over the ground to pass the time, and then arranged himself nicely on it so that no twigs dug into his flesh. Estel knelt beside him, looking at him with desire.   
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, running an oil-slicked finger across Legolas’s chest. The elf shivered.   
“Sais, don’t tease,” he murmured, drawing Estel’s hand further down. Estel needed no further invitation. He put those oiled fingers to good use, and soon Legolas was panting, asking for him, his flesh. Estel made a noise of agreement, and laid himself next to the elf. It was under the cold, distant eye of the stars that they Estel took Legolas for the first time. They watched as porcelain skin brushed against tan, lips and hands travelled over soft tissue and hard muscle.   
The forest and stars were the only ones to watch as the thrusting and pounding and driving elicited moans and cries of pleasure again and again. And the stars witnessed the murmured words said over and over in between the gasps for breath. “Gi melin, gi melin.”

 

Estel ran his hand over Legolas’s hair repeatedly as dawn crept upon them. He was trying to hold off the thoughts, the reality of it all, but it was becoming increasingly harder and harder as he woke up. After he and Legolas had spent their passions, they had both fallen asleep, and Estel had not woken until a few moments ago.   
Legolas stirred against his chest and took in a sharp breath. He partially sat up, putting a hand on Estel’s chest, glancing around, as if trying to find his bearings. He relaxed a moment later and rested his head once more on Estel’s chest. His lips brushed Estel’s collarbone, and Estel shivered. Memories of the night washed over him, and he let out a breath that was not very even. Legolas smiled and gently bit Estel’s collarbone.   
“Careful, nin meleth,” Estel murmured. “You would have me take you again, and we have naught the time for that.”  
Legolas looked up at him, something clouding his eyes. “Aye, I must leave and you must decide what you will do.”  
Estel blinked. “Aye,” he said, sighing.   
“What will you do?” Legolas asked, sitting up and untangling his legs from Estel’s. The elf was glorious, nude and ruffled from the past night, his skin as white as lilies. Estel couldn’t help but stare in admiration for several moments before he brought himself back to the present again and answered the elf.   
“I will leave,” he said, standing as well. He moved to the stream and cupped some of the cool water in his hands. “It is not safe for Elrond if I stay. There will be those who want me dead. Perhaps I will ride with you into battle to see how it fares and help as much as I can. Then I will ride north to join my people.”  
“Where will you stay?” Legolas crouched next to him and poured water over his head.   
“I know not. I will find somewhere. I can hide my identity; it was easy enough for this long.”  
Legolas was silent, sliding his damp hands over his arms. “But you are Isuldir’s heir. You could ride to Gondor and the City of Kings to retake your crown and throne.”  
“No,” Estel said harshly. “That will bring only ruin to men.” Legolas nodded, but did not agree or disagree. “What will you do?” he asked in a softer voice to Legolas, smoothing a hand over his back. Legolas’s muscles twitched at the coldness, but he made no move to retreat.   
“I will stay with my king until he wishes me to leave,” Legolas said. His voice was dark.  
“Can you not leave?”  
Legolas looked up at Estel, who slid his hand over the other shoulder. “I am all he has. No matter how vile he acts, I know that he has nothing else in this world but his kingdom. His wife is long dead and he has no other children. I must stay or my realm will fall further into darkness. I can offer him as much consolation as I am able.”  
Estel pressed a light kiss to Legolas’s temple. “You are an admirable elf,” he murmured. Legolas smiled at that and laughed.   
“Allow me to cleanse your back,” he said in response. Estel shifted so that his back was more easily accessible to Legolas, who drew in a sharp breath. “Mellonin,” he whispered. “I meant not to wound you.” The scratches along Estel’s shoulders and back were inflamed.   
“I was not feeling pain last night,” Estel whispered. “Worry not, Legolas. I do not feel them.” And if I do, it will be a good remembrance of our time spent in the forest he almost added, but did not. Saying those words would make it that much harder to leave the elf when the time came that he was meant to. Legolas carefully washed Estel’s back and shoulders, his touch as light as a butterfly’s.   
By the time the sun kissed their skin, the two lovers were dressed and heading back towards Imladris to face their separate fates. 

 

Aragorn pulled himself out of the memories with no small amount of difficulty. He blinked a few times, and then realized that everyone that surrounded them was waiting for an answer. He held out a hand. “Havo dad, Legolas,” he murmured after a moment.   
Legolas looked ready to say something else, but thought better of it and seated himself. Boromir glared around the assembled peoples of Middle Earth. “Gondor has no king,” he spat. He turned to Aragorn. “Gondor needs no king.” He stalked back to his chair and sat down.   
Aragorn could hardly find the emotion to counter what Boromir had just said. Perhaps he was right. He turned his attention away from the man and looked at his once-lover. Legolas was still watching him, eyes dark and careful. Aragorn nodded once and gave him a slight smile in gratitude. Legolas smiled back and sat back, looking over to Gandalf as he said,   
“Aragorn is right. We cannot use it” He glanced around the circle, alternately daring anyone to challenge him and to find support.   
Elrond provided it. “You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed.”  
To Aragorn’s surprise, one of the dwarves stood up. “What are we waiting for?” he growled, grabbing his axe and thundering towards the table on which the ring was placed. From that point on, there was chaos. When Gimli’s axe broke and the others started shouting, Aragorn met Legolas’s eye over the crowd. He was holding his kin back, but looked up as if he had felt the weight of Aragorn’s gaze.   
When Frodo carefully walked up and proclaimed that he would take the Ring to Mordor, Aragorn saw his chance. Now this was a way that he could make up for some small part of the deeds his ancestor had brought upon Middle Earth. Here was a way he could pay for some of his sins. He stood. “If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.”  
Frodo looked up at him, surprised, as he knelt before the small Hobbit.   
“You have my sword.”  
Legolas moved, quickly and lightly. “And you have my bow,” he said. Aragorn looked up at him in surprise. I cannot ask you to join me on this quest, he tried to convey through his eyes. Legolas only nodded, as if to say, It is by my free will that I join you, mellonin. Aragorn nodded. The dwarf, Gimli joined them after a moment of hesitation. After exchanging a dark look with Gimli, Legolas looked back at Aragorn.   
Perhaps the times had not changed their hearts, for they both felt the same desire rage in them as they had the last time they had met, at Mirkwood. 

 

Many hours later, Aragorn found that he was walking in Elrond’s gardens, the memories flooding through him like water. Most were of he and Legolas, lounging about in the sun, talking about nonsense that he would not remember even the next day.   
But there were memories of Arwen here, also. The elf princess had soothed Aragorn’s aching heart after he had been forced to leave Legolas. He thought, that perhaps one day, he would come to love the elf woman. His heart was torn, however, for Legolas had made a much unexpected reappearance into his life. He had never thought to see the elf again while he still drew breath. He had shut his heart off to those emotions as well as he could, though he still woke some nights, shivering and searching for a warmth on the other side of the bed he knew would not be there.   
He took in a deep breath. “Mellonin.” That voice was a voice from his dreams. He turned to find Legolas behind him. The years had not changed the elf; in fact, he was more beautiful than ever.   
Aragorn found that he was smiling, and he embraced the elf without hesitation. Legolas stiffened at first at the contact, but he quickly returned the hug. “It has been far too long since I have had the good graces of laying my eyes upon you,” Aragorn murmured into Legolas’s hair, nuzzling his nose against the silky warmth of it.   
“And I you,” Legolas returned, running a hand up Aragorn’s back, to cup his shoulder. However, he drew back, looking down at Aragorn’s pendant. “That is the Evenstar’s,” he said. “She has pledged her immortality to you.”  
Aragorn stiffened and looked away. “I thought I would never lay my eyes upon you while I lived,” he said. “I could come to love Arwen.”  
Legolas’s heart hurt to hear those words, but he understood. He had made it clear at the end of the battle that Aragorn should not wait for him, for he was always to be tied to Mirkwood, whereas Aragorn was free to wander the world. He had hoped that the man would find someone to warm his bed at night. “I am happy for you, mellonin,” he murmured, pulling back.   
Aragorn clutched at the elf. “Dar,” he cried. “Do not leave, nin meleth.”  
Legolas’s heart stopped in his chest at those words. Could it be possible that the man still loved him, even after all of this time? Elves were immortal and it took them much longer to get over a hurt or a love than a man, but if Aragorn had held onto this for as long as he had, Legolas would be surprised. The hearts of men were fleeting and fierce, and Legolas had been happy to be part of the man’s heart, if only for a fortnight and a day. “Do you not love her?”  
“Aye, I could love her,” Aragorn said, and Legolas could hear the pain in his voice. “But my heart has always belonged in part to you. I do not think you will ever leave it.”  
Legolas felt tears—actual tears—gather in his eyes at the words. He had not cried in millennia, had never allowed himself to show such emotional weakness. “Mellonin,” he murmured. “You do not have to console me—“  
His words were cut off as Aragorn kissed him fiercely and passionately. He attempted to show Legolas that part in his heart that had always been for him and that always would be. Legolas was frozen for several long moments, before he returned Aragorn’s kiss with as much fervor. He found solace in that touch, for he realized that he could go on, that he could be together with Aragorn as long as he lived. Even if they could just be together as friends, he would be more than happy to have Legolas by his side.   
And by his side Legolas stayed. 

-finis-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the list of Sindarin…   
> Sais—please  
> Mellonin—friend  
> Gusta—stop  
> Daro—don’t  
> Nin meleth—my love  
> Atua miqula orqu—Go kiss an Orc  
> Tolo—come  
> Le hannon—thank you  
> Gi melin—I love you  
> Havo dad—sit down  
> Dar—wait


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue: The Sea Calls us Home

Legolas looked out to the sea, feeling something in his heart settle for the first time since he had reached adulthood. They were to leave for the Undying Lands in a few moments, and Legolas wanted to spend a few moments remembering all that he had experienced on this continent.  
The sea had been calling him since he had been but a young elf, and he had always felt the unrest in his heart.   
Until he met Estel. The shifting moods and steady heart of the man had reminded him of the sea. He had found in Estel the same longing that he had, and they had grown closer together because of it. Legolas felt the pain in his heart increase at that thought. It had been over a year since Elessar had passed over into the halls of his fathers, but Legolas still felt that keening pain in his breast whenever he remembered the man’s smile or the feel of his calloused hand on his face.   
Legolas drew in a deep breath and allowed himself to feel the pain. He needed to remember Estel before he left, and perhaps it would give him some peace. Estel had finally left, and so would he.   
Aragorn’s life had been long and hard, but he had become such a great man because of it. Since Legolas had rejoined him in the Fellowship, he had proved to Legolas again and again that he was a man of true heart and someone that Legolas would never forget, in all his immortal years.   
“You’re remembering him, aren’t you?” Gimli asked, looking up at his dear friend.   
“Aye,” Legolas said, smiling that smile he only got when he was thinking about their beloved king.   
“He was a good man.”  
Legolas’s lips trembled as he fought off tears. “Aye he was.”  
And it had been true. Since he had begun ruling, Arda had been at peace for the first time since the ring had been cut off of Sauron’s finger. Elessar had been a kind and gentle man, always listening to the needs of his people and doing what was best for them, even if it put him at great peril. Everyone had loved the king, except the few who perhaps desired his throne.   
Arwen had been a just and gentle queen as well. She understood that her husband’s heart did not belong only to her, but to Legolas as well, and she had allowed them their time, for she knew that it was possible for the man to love them both equally. She had borne him a son, who was now ruling in the City of the Kings and many daughters, all of which were fair.   
Legolas closed his eyes. The name of his bloodline would live long in this land, and he was glad for it. The land would prosper under King Eldarion, and he knew that the land would not want for anything for several thousand years.   
“Come, my friend,” Gimli said, taking Legolas’s arm. “The ship lies at harbor, waiting for us to board.”  
Legolas smiled down at the dwarf. “Aye, let us leave and go on another adventure.” As he walked down the dock, he turned. He could almost imagine Estel’s ghost standing at the top of the hill, watching him go.   
He would want this, Legolas thought. He remembered a night, long ago, when they had talked of the sea and its call upon Legolas’s heart. He smiled. Aye, he would push me onto the boat if he were here. The tears threatened to spill over as he boarded the ship. He could almost hear Aragorn’s voice in his ear.   
“Go, mellonin. We will meet in the next life.” The air kissed his cheek much as his lover would have.   
As the ship sailed into the distance, Legolas did not turn around and look at the land he had grown up on, for he knew there was nothing for him there. Not anymore. Now, he would go and explore a new world, one where his mother and father waited, and perhaps he would find a way to ease the pain of Aragorn’s passing.   
Gimli placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder. The elf looked down at the dwarf, who had tears in his eyes as well. “And as this ship passes an end has come to the Fellowship of the Ring,” he said. Legolas let out a deep breath and smiled, tilting his head back and letting the rays of the sun shine upon his face. He imagined that the warm caresses were from Aragorn’s fingers as he held him, murmuring endearments to the elf in the wee hours of the morning.  
“Finally. It is done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone so much for reading!!! Hope to see you in future fanfictions!


End file.
